The Cleansing of the Vale
by Raihon
Summary: Before Gandalf leaves Middle Earth for the Blessed Realm, he wants to help Faramir and Aragorn finish one last task: the destruction of Minas Morgul. Faramir, Gandalf, Legolas, Gimli and others set off to face what awaits them in the Morgul Vale.
1. Chapter 1 Fathers and Sons

**Chapter 1 – Fathers and Sons**

Éowyn looked exhausted. Her head bobbed, and she seemed unaware of Faramir's presence in the room. To the tip of her breast clung a little mouth, stilled in sleep. Faramir quietly approached and took the sleeping baby from Éowyn, who smiled weakly and promptly slid down the pile of pillows until she was flat on the bed and gratefully asleep. Faramir cradled his son gently in his arms and made his way down to the back veranda where he sat in the shade and hoped for a cool breeze. Maida, Éowyn's maid, fluttered around him for a moment, trying to relieve him of his blessed burden, but he waved her away and enjoyed the baby's warmth in his lap, in spite of the summer heat that was beginning to press in on the house in the hills of Emyn Arnen.

A bird called out three times from the eave of the house and Elboron's little eyelids fluttered open. He blinked at the bright blue sky, sighed deeply, and fell back into sleep. Faramir smiled at him without ceasing until something else stirred the baby from sleep and at last his eyes came to focus on his father's face and he returned Faramir's smile.

"Good morning, little one," Faramir cooed. "it is a fine summer morning, my son. Shall we take a walk?"

Elboron flapped his arms indicating his desire to be picked up, and Faramir held him braced against one shoulder as he walked down the sloping lawn toward the creek. With his free hand, he shaded Elboron's face from the sun until they reached the shade of the woods. Faramir sat on a log and shed his boots, rolling up his trousers one-handed. He said, "aah!" as he submerged his feet in the cool water and the loud noise caused Elboron to look at him in surprise.

"What?" Faramir asked. "Do you want to play in the water, too?"

Faramir laid the baby on his forearm, gripping his shoulders with the other hand, and held him suspended above the shallow stream so that he could splash at it with his hands. He did this in spite of the fact that he would get scolded by the women of his household should they espy him. According to their Rohirric wisdom, even on a hot summer day, any exposure to cold would surely cause the poor child to be stricken with a grave illness.

"But no," he told Elboron, "Ada knows that a little cool water isn't going to hurt anyone. That's right," he replied to Elboron's gurgling, "Ada knows what he's doing."

"Prince Faramir?" Faramir's page called from up on the lawn.

"I am down by the stream, Angril," Faramir answered, hastily drying the baby off with his shirt. He doubted Angril would scold him, but still…

"My Lord," the boy said, bowing quickly, "a message has come from The City. Mithrandir has arrived and King Elessar calls you to attend them in due haste."

Faramir raised his eyebrows. "Thank you Angril. Please fetch Goldoron from the stables and make him ready, and ask Maida to pack a bag for me in case I have to spend a day or two in The City."

"Yes, my Lord." Angril ran off.

Faramir held his son so that they were looking eye-to-eye. "I wish you could come with me and meet my old friend Mithrandir. Maybe he can come here to see you later."

Elboron flailed his arms and squealed.

"Yes, I thought that would please you. Now, back to the house with you. Ada has to go visit the King."

Faramir did not want to disturb Éowyn's sleep, but he had to say goodbye to her, since he did not know what this meeting was about or how long he would be gone. He frowned slightly as he climbed the stairs, thinking that if it were a matter of little import, Aragorn and Gandalf might well have just come out for the day to Emyn Arnen instead of calling for him.

Éowyn stirred the moment she sensed Elboron's presence in the room. "Oh, what a lovely sleep," she sighed, opening her arms to receive the baby.

Faramir sat next to her on the bed and kissed her forehead. "I have to leave, my sleeping beauty."

Éowyn frowned.

"Mithrandir has come to Minas Tirith and I have been sent for."

"Why? For how long?"

Faramir smoothed her hair. "I know not. Tomorrow I will send word or come myself, if I can."

Éowyn grabbed his hand and kissed it. "Go well, my love."

Faramir smiled and kissed her softly on the lips. "I am sorry…"

Éowyn placed a finger over his mouth. "Go," she said.

Faramir collected the bag that Maida had packed and went to the gate where his horse awaited him. He rode down to the river crossing and ferried across with Goldoron, distracting the horse with an apple during the transit. He then gave the horse free rein once they were inside the wall and they made across the Pelennor in good time, arriving at The City not long after midday. Faramir smiled and greeted familiar faces on his walk up to the Citadel, noting which shops were thriving, which houses had yet to be rebuilt, how many beggars were enduring the summer sun for a token or a bit of bread. He was stopped several times by officers inquiring after the health of his wife and son, but eventually, and not before he was thoroughly famished, he arrived at the Citadel.

"Where are the King and the White Wizard?" he asked the guard.

"In the King's private study. They are expecting you."

Faramir nodded. "Please have some food sent up to me there."

"What would you like, my Lord?"

"It does not matter. Whatever is handy in the kitchen."

Faramir walked down the hallway that led to the private quarters of the royal family, stopping on the way to leave his bag in the set of rooms that he and Éowyn now used when they were at court. After the births of Elboron and the King's son, Eldarion, Arwen had Faramir's quarters moved into their private wing. The location had several advantages, not least of which was that Eldarion's nurse could attend both infants during the night and let Elboron's parents take their rest.

Faramir passed Valacar, the King's secretary, who gave him a formal nod and opened the door to the King's study. Aragorn and Gandalf were seated on the balcony, and they rose and moved inside the room to greet Faramir.

Faramir embraced the King, who kissed him on the cheek and squeezed his arm affectionately. Faramir smiled at him warmly before turning to embrace Gandalf. The three of them then adjourned to the balcony, where a light breeze made the oppressive heat almost bearable.

"I hear congratulations are in order," Gandalf began. "I have already seen the heir to the King, a fine, squally little bundle of flesh called Eldarion. What have you named yours?"

Faramir smiled, "he is called Elboron, and he is not at all squally. Placid as the Anduin is my little one."

Aragorn nodded, "'tis true. How an Elf produced a hellion and they slayer of the Witch-king produced a sage, I shall never understand."

"Hm," Gandalf said, eyeing them both. "Maybe they take after their fathers."

Aragorn laughed. "Think you this one wise and placid?" he said, waving in Faramir's direction.

"I do," Gandalf replied.

Aragorn's eyes shone fondly. "As do I."

Gandalf held up a hand. "I knew you both as lads and I have no doubts about the origins of your sons' temperaments. Let it rest at that." Again, he looked each of them over again said, "hmm."

Faramir's eyes narrowed. "What brings you here, Mithrandir?"

Just then Valacar announced that a kitchen maid had brought up Faramir's lunch. Gandalf muttered something about Hobbity habits rubbing off on men, but Faramir ignored him and quickly consumed the food on his plate.

"Gandalf?" Aragorn asked, inviting the Wizard to answer Faramir's question.

"My friends," Gandalf began, "I am leaving. In less than three months I and the other keepers of the rings will depart from the Gray Havens and return at long last to the Blessed Realm."

Faramir's mouth went dry and he swallowed his food with some discomfort. He looked to Aragorn, who sighed and cast his eyes downward. Faramir cherished the Wizard's counsel, but he knew that the loss of this friend would be an even harder blow for Aragorn. And then it struck him – the others were leaving, too. The kin of the King and Queen were departing Middle Earth, and soon.

Gandalf's gaze on Aragorn was compassionate as he said, "long have I wandered and watched over Middle Earth, and long have I waited to see a day such as this, when the King has not only regained the throne but has ensured the dawn of a new age. Fatherhood agrees with you, but there is something more to this…" his eyes slid to Faramir, who returned his look frankly. "The two of you have formed a strong bond already, and this could be an unlooked for gift for the age of men." Gandalf paused, holding Faramir's gaze for a while. "May it be so," he said at last, "for the third age is not done with us yet. My tasks here are completed, all but one, and ere I leave for the undying lands, I would give the last bit of guidance my flock will require from their tired, old shepherd."

Faramir resisted feeling the resentment of abandonment or sorrow that their friends were leaving them to their own devices. He knew they all had their reasons for going. Faramir noted with sadness that Gandalf, who had before only appeared old, now seemed worn and weary.

"We have always been glad of your guidance, my friend," Aragorn said, "but what task do you feel you have left undone?"

"Hmm," Gandalf said again, rising to gaze over the balcony railing at the northern course of the Anduin. "The land is learning how to support life again, and if your wives count as evidence, the people of this land also regain their strength to bring forth new life. It pains me to remind you both, who are at last and deservedly surrounded and comforted by love, that something of the darkness yet drains the strength from your land."

Faramir rose and stood by Gandalf, now looking where he was looking. "Morgul," he breathed.

Aragorn rose and stood close to Faramir. "I have commanded that it be destroyed, but we had thought to leave that evil place be until we had the strength to deal with it."

"Mablung's Rangers guard the crossroads, but none dare go nearer," said Faramir. "A fearsome darkness still haunts the place, and it is possible that the city remains a stronghold of the vanquished servants of Sauron."

Gandalf nodded. "You may well wait until your strength is regained, but I ask you to consider accepting my offer of assistance and acting sooner than you might wish. You will deal with Morgul as you deem best, Elessar, but I fear your road will be harder without me."

Faramir glanced at Aragorn, who also looked at him with questioning eyes. Then Aragorn's gaze flickered backwards, and Faramir bit his lip thoughtfully. Both men were reluctant to be parted from their children, and both men beheld for the first time a fear for their own lives such as is felt by those who are needed by someone young and helpless.

"Yes," Gandalf said softly, knowing their thoughts, "but it is their future we look to, and we would not leave this job for them to do."

"No, but we would be better prepared in a few more years; we would have more men and better weapons," Aragorn protested.

Gandalf nodded slowly. "Yes, it may be prudent to wait until Gondor is on its feet again before attempting to rid the world of the former domain of the Witch King."

Faramir sensed the meaning behind Gandalf's words and looked from Aragorn to Gandalf. "Our strength in this fight does not come from men and arms, does it, Mithrandir?"

Gandalf took a step away from the railing and looked at them both. "Indeed, were it simply a matter of breaking stones into rubble, you would be wise to wait until you had the men and equipment to spare for such a demolition. But even with an army of Dwarves and Men at your disposal, I fear the menace that lingers there would crush their spirits and send them fleeing in terror."

Faramir nodded grimly, recalling his own recent travels in that blighted land.

"You already have the defenses you need for this fight. Both of you have endured worse than anything that awaits you at Minas Morgul and you both have the strength and wisdom to bring others through this ordeal, as well." Gandalf said. Then he smiled and shook his head so that his beard wagged back and forth. "I can see right through both of you, so clear are your minds and so pure are your hearts," he said proudly. "Such a great light shines from Númenor's setting stars. Yes, you two have forged a mighty weapon against the dark, indeed, but I would still help you, if you would make haste. There is much in my knowledge and experience that could aid you in this task."

Aragorn nodded. "Truly, we know not even what it is we fight in this battle."

Valacar entered the room again to announce the arrival of Master Gimli. Faramir and Aragorn exchanged surprised looks and Gandalf smiled thinly.

"Where is that Wizard?" Gimli said as he pushed past Valacar, who grimaced slightly and departed, shutting the door behind him. "It _is_ you! Durin's beard, what brings you here?"

Gandalf's smile turned into a grin. "How fare you, Master Dwarf?"

"These Men and their foolishness!" Gimli burst out. He barely nodded at Aragorn and Faramir before taking the chair Aragorn had formerly been occupying out on the balcony. "If you want to get a job done right, do it yourself they say, and indeed, I find myself single-handedly rebuilding the second circle, it seems, with little aid or assistance from…" Gimli turned around and noticed that the others were still in the study. "What are you waiting for?" he asked. "Come out on the balcony where it is cooler!"

Faramir laughed nervously. He hadn't spent much time with the Dwarf, but Aragorn always seemed to take his insolence in good humor, so Faramir followed his lead and returned to the balcony as Gimli continued his diatribe against the inadequacies of Minas Tirith's stonemasons.

When Gimli paused to take a breath, Aragorn smiled wryly and asked, "then I assume you would not be opposed to taking some time away from the city? A ride into the countryside and, perhaps, an adventure or two?"

"With you?" Gimli exclaimed in delight. "You know I am always at your service!"

"I will not be going," Aragorn said, and all heads turned toward him. Aragorn leaned forward onto the balcony railing and gazed to the east. "If, as Gandalf says, Faramir and I are both capable of bearing this burden, then it matters not which of us goes and which stays to govern. I would gladly go…"Aragorn sighed and turned back to them. "But I have other duties here that, though they make me less glad, are no less important. Ithilien is your land, Faramir. I give you the burden and the glory of this task."

Faramir bowed his head in acquiescence, though he felt some regret for the King's unexpected decision. He had lost his stomach for battle and would have gladly traded valor for the quiet fulfillment of less glamorous duties. Then again, the thought of sending Gondor's King to the Black City did not sit well with him, either.

Gimli harrumphed and crossed his arms. "I suppose if you have better things to do, I'll just have to find another traveling companion who will brood for hours on end and lead us on routes that take us the far way 'round. I don't suppose that pointy-eared guest of yours will want to join us?" he asked Faramir.

Aragorn smiled at Gimli's jest and nodded to Faramir. "The Elves of Greenwood lived long in the shadow of Dol Guldur. Legolas knows the ways of The Nine and he will be a mighty friend to us in this task."

Gandalf spread his arms wide. "It is settled, then. It is well that we should face this together with our friends. Today we have much to speak of regarding the evils we may confront. Tomorrow, we will ride to Emyn Arnen to make our request of Legolas. And, if he be awake," Gandalf said with a wink, "I desire to make the acquaintance of the heir to the Prince of Ithilien ere I leave these lands for good."

_In his dream, Faramir stood before his father who looked at him with disdain, but then Denethor's eyes flashed a challenge and Faramir realized there was yet hope to win his approval. "Have you the courage to do my will?" Denethor asked. "It was never courage that I lacked, father," Faramir answered. He turned to leave and heard his father's voice calling, "do not take my son from me!" Joy and confusion mingled in Faramir's heart as he turned back to face not his father, but Gandalf, who was gently cradling Elboron and cooing at him. Faramir tried to go to them, but a wall of flame arose between them._

Faramir awoke with a cough. "Carcharoth's breath," he swore and ran a hand through his hair, tossing restlessly in his bed. The dream was annoyingly familiar, each time with a slightly different variation. Usually he dreamed about what had been, but sometimes his dream self asked his father not to send him back to Osgiliath, and sometimes he even broke down and begged for Denethor's forgiveness for sending the Ring into Mordor. Often, and this disturbed him the most, when he turned back it was Aragorn he saw, not his father. This was the first time he had seen Gandalf or Elboron. Each time played out differently, but always the same theme hammered at him until he woke: he and Denethor each sought something the other would not give.

Faramir arose and busied himself with tidying up his room. He knew he could not fall back to sleep right away and he was determined not to dwell on the dream. Instead, he thought about how he missed Elboron and Éowyn, and how he dreaded telling his wife what had to be done. His mind was filled with dark thoughts, for hours of Gandalf's tutoring on what to expect at Minas Morgul had not been a lesson to be taken lightly. After he had picked up, inspected, and set down again nearly every object in the room, he donned his clothing so he could pace off his thoughts elsewhere.

He left the private wing of the King's house and walked to the Council chamber. Twice he had circled the enormous table before he noticed an intermittent glow coming from the study and the smell of fragrant smoke. He went to the door and saw Aragorn's pipe dimly glowing red in a pool of blue moonlight. Faramir smiled; he enjoyed watching his friend indulge in his vices.

"I saw you come in five minutes ago. I thought perhaps you were ignoring me," Aragorn's voice said, teasing.

"I was distracted," Faramir said and went to sit across the ledger table from Aragorn.

"I cannot sleep either," said Aragorn.

"I was asleep, but a dream awoke me," Faramir said, then realized he should hold his tongue. He had not told Aragorn about these dreams, nor did he want to.

"Was it a portentous dream?" Aragorn asked with interest.

Faramir shook his head. He and Aragorn were very close, but Aragorn was still King, and he was still Steward. Despite their friendship, there remained a tangible tension between them that wavered between pulling them together and pushing them apart. Faramir often worried that they were too familiar, more intimate with each other than men in their positions should be, so he said, "It was just a dream reminding me that I miss my son."

They sat in silence for a while before Faramir asked, "which would disturb you more: fighting an unknown enemy or leaving your wife and child for days, maybe weeks?"

Aragorn laughed. "Now we know why married men make such poor soldiers. It is not battle by daylight that we fear, but loneliness by night."

Faramir smiled. "Well, whatever may come to pass, with this company I do not think the nights will be very lonely."

"I wish I were going with you," Aragorn sighed.

"You must be suffering. We did not know they would be leaving us so soon," Faramir said. Aragorn turned his head away. "I know you must long to go on another adventure with your friends. Say the word, Aragorn, and I will stay in your stead."

Aragorn huffed out a laugh. "Hm! You do not wish to go."

Faramir looked down. "Do not think poorly of me. It is just that…"

"Faramir," Aragorn chided him gently. "I would never think…" he shook his head and smiled affectionately at Faramir. "I know why you are reluctant, and perhaps my decision was poor, for I am sending you to do something that I wish to do, while I remain behind to do that for which you are better suited."

Faramir cocked his head and looked again at Aragorn. "Then why am I going while you stay behind? You led the forces to Rhûn last summer."

Aragorn was silent for a moment and Faramir could not see the expression on his face. "The King must not put himself in danger when there is another who will do the job just as well…or perhaps better. The Easterlings needed to see me with their own eyes, but this time, there is no reason for you not to lead."

Faramir smiled sympathetically. "I am sorry, Aragorn, but you are correct. I must go and you must remain."

Aragorn shrugged and re-lit his pipe. He smoked for a minute, then said, "There is something I want to give you for this journey, but I think you will try to refuse it."

Faramir shook his head. "I will not be gone long. There is no need for a parting gift!"

The corner of Aragorn's mouth quirked upward. "It is no gift, my friend. I will want it back when you return." Aragorn reached into his vest and laid something on the table between them.

The room was dark but the object on the table captured what little light was in the room and magnified it so that it seemed to be shining much brighter than the moon itself. Faramir's hand reached out for it before he could stop himself and he beheld a beautiful clear jewel mounted on a cord of woven silver. Faramir's hand began to tremble and he gently put the jewel back down on the table.

"Elendilmir," Faramir whispered. "Aragorn, I cannot."

"I command you to take it," Aragorn said firmly.

"It is a sign of rule…" Faramir protested, aghast at the thought of possessing this symbol of a power that was not his to claim.

Aragorn interrupted him. "It is more than that. It has potency and I believe that it remembers Minas Ithil as it was before. Perhaps it remembers everything: Andúnië in Númenor, Silmariën, and more. May it help you accomplish your task."

Aragorn reached across the table and pressed the jewel into Faramir's hand, closing his fingers around it. "If I cannot go with you, I will send this in my stead. Bring my jewel back to me safely and swiftly." Aragorn released Faramir's hand and resumed his smoking.

Faramir watched him smoke for a while, touched by Aragorn's trust and pitying the King for his thwarted desire to take this journey himself. The pull he felt toward Aragorn grew stronger and he knew it was in his power to mitigate some of the sadness Aragorn was feeling. Once again casting propriety aside, he said, "Come with us to Emyn Arnen tomorrow. I can promise you one merry evening with your friends before we depart."

Aragorn smiled. "Thank you. I would like that."

Faramir pressed the jewel to his heart. "Aragorn, I…"

"It is late," Aragorn said quickly. "Let us talk more on the ride tomorrow."

So it was that Aragorn set out the next morning with a small retinue of his personal guard, along with Faramir, Gandalf, and Gimli, headed for Emyn Arnen. Upon their arrival to his estate, Faramir charged Beregond with sheltering the King's guard and preparing for their journey the next day. He sent his page, Angril, to the Elves' cottage to ask Legolas to join them in the great room. Then he spoke to Maida about readying sleeping chambers for their guests.

Maida looked at him reproachfully. "My Lord," she said under her breath, "who would you have share their room with the Dwarf: the King or the Wizard?"

Faramir gave her a puzzled look. "What do you mean?" he asked, mildly irritated.

"Do you forget how small your own house is, my Lord? We only have two guest chambers, last I checked."

Faramir couldn't help but smile at her cheek. "Ah, yes. Our future guest house still belongs to the Elves, I suppose. I will see what I can do for tonight," he said.

When Faramir told his guests of his inhospitable dilemma, Legolas laid a hand on Gimli's shoulder and said, "we have room in our cottage, or room enough for this one, at least."

"Hmph. Well, I suppose a cottage is better than a tree, at any rate" Gimli grumbled.

After showing his guests the Rohirric layout of the house, with a separate storeroom and kitchen, Faramir took them through the young arbor and orchards tended by the Elves Luthir and Arasail. "This tree, for example," Faramir gestured to a sapling not unlike all the others, "is supposed to have the ability to thrive on very poor land, such as that along the Morgulduin. Arasail hopes that it will actually leach the poisons from the soil, allowing less hearty plants to grow up around its roots."

Legolas touched the tree reverently. "It is a rare thing for my kind, but I find myself impatient. I hope these little ones grow quickly so that I can begin my work."

Gandalf gave Legolas a curious look. "Perhaps you are caught up in the spirit of transformation that seems to be gripping this land."

Legolas looked past the others, toward the Anduin. "Perhaps. But I find this drive for haste unsettling."

Aragorn touched him lightly on the arm. "You are surrounded by us now. We are putting demands on you."

Legolas shook his head and moved away from Aragorn and the others. "No, that is not it."

Faramir watched this exchange with interest. Legolas had indeed seemed restless of late, but Faramir had not found a way to discuss it with him. After a moment too long of silence, Faramir cleared his throat and said, "and that house over there contains another ingenious device of Rohirric culture: a bath."

"A what?" Gimli asked.

Faramir laughed. "A bath, a room for bathing in."

"Why do you need a room for that? What is wrong with a perfectly good stream, if one must bathe?" asked the bemused Dwarf.

"Ah, but this is warm water," Faramir explained. "And the air is full of steam, and after you go from the hot pool to the cold, one of your friends beats you across the back with a nice bundle of twigs, and then you finish up by downing a cool glass of strong ale."

Gandalf looked askance at Faramir. "Ah, yes. Physical discomfort mitigated by strong drink. Very Rohirric, indeed."

Gimli grinned. "Sounds like a fine time. I knew I liked those horsemen! When do we start?"

Legolas and Aragorn led Gimli and Gandalf to the house where the Elves were lodged. Faramir returned to his house to break the news of his immanent departure to Éowyn.

She was pacing the nursery with Elboron over one shoulder, bouncing him and humming. She did not see Faramir at first, so he watched her for a few moments before saying, "you could ask Maida to do that."

"You always say that, and I always reply that I want to do these things myself," Éowyn said, turning to him for a kiss. "I do not want my children nursed and raised by strangers."

"Maida is hardly a stranger. Here – let me," Faramir said, taking his son on his own shoulder and beginning the bouncing walk around the room which he hoped would soon result in a sound asleep child.

Éowyn smiled crookedly. "See? You want to do these things yourself, too, only I will not let you do them as often as you like."

Faramir nodded. "'Tis true. You are very selfish with our son."

Éowyn's smile faded. "I saw you in the courtyard. That is quite an escort you brought back with you."

Faramir sighed. "Let me get him to sleep and then I will tell you what I must do."

Éowyn left the room to change into more formal attire to receive her guests and Faramir put Elboron down for his nap. He joined Éowyn in her study and sat down across from her at her desk. "The King has charged me with an expedition to Minas Morgul, with the aim of being rid of it once and for all."

Éowyn paled. "But he already decided to let it be for now."

Faramir nodded. "Gandalf is leaving. He thinks we might need his help in this task."

Éowyn was quiet for a while, then she nodded curtly and said, "when do you think you will return?"

"I am not sure. It is not far, but we do not know what we will face there. If all goes well, I might return within the week. If we find nothing there to oppose us, we can return swiftly and send a request to the Dwarves to aid us in the city's destruction."

Éowyn then did one of the things that bound Faramir's heart to her ever more firmly as the years of their love wore on. She said no more about the inconvenience of his pending absence or her worries over the dangers he faced. Instead, she shot through him with a look of her cool blue eyes and said in a low tone, "do not be late to my bed tonight."

That night after dinner, Faramir and his guests adjourned to the bath. They were joined by a reluctant Beregond, who had privately protested to Faramir that there were better ways of entertaining their distinguished guests on a hot summer night. Faramir disagreed, and his faithful Captain kept silent – for a while. The men shed their clothing in the anteroom and Faramir led them into the inner chamber, which was wood paneled and full of steam.

"Sit on the benches against the wall. Try the lower bench if it is too hot above," Faramir directed them.

"My Lord," Beregond grumbled aloud this time, clutching his towel tightly around his waist. "The night is still thick with summer heat. We might as well go sit under the stars if we want to bathe in steam!"

Aragorn smiled, resting an arm across Faramir's shoulders. "Lord Faramir is just proud of his wife's heritage and wants to show off the luxuries of his estate for his friends."

"Especially for Mithrandir," Faramir added. He was concerned by the stoop in Gandalf's shoulders, the apparent stiffness in his joints.

Gandalf snorted. "Really?"

"'Tis true," Faramir averred. "After a night in the bath, you will feel much better. I swear, you will feel no aches or pains."

"I feel no pain, that is for certain," said Gimli, who was already sprawled out along the top bench. Legolas leapt up and crouched on the bench beside Gimli, closing his eyes and breathing deeply.

Soon the other four squeezed themselves onto the lower bench, but Beregond kept squirming and sighing.

"So take a dip in the cold pool," Faramir said, pushing him off the bench. "And then fetch the ale. The same stream that chills the cold tub is also chilling a bottle just outside, and there should be a glass in the anteroom."

Faramir bent forward and rested his head in his hands, closing his eyes and relaxing deeply. Aragorn was on his other side, their thighs pressed sweatily together. Faramir raised his head and looked at Gandalf, who was leaning his head back and had a blissful smile on his face.

"I knew you would like it," Faramir said, grinning. Gandalf's smile widened slightly.

Legolas came down off the bench and climbed into the warm pool, which was really just a deep tub only big enough for one person. He immersed himself up to his chin and groaned happily. "It is quite hot."

Gimli started to snore and Gandalf poked him. "Do not retire so soon, Master Dwarf . You haven't even gotten to the beating and the drinking yet!"

"I am just getting my strength up," Gimli said, and fell back asleep.

Beregond got out of the cold tub to get the ale, so Legolas hopped from the first tub into the second and let out a little yelp. "Well, it is not as cold as it was in the winter, at least." He leapt out almost immediately and grabbed the bundle of twigs from its hook on the wall. "Who wants to beat me?" he asked.

All the others burst out laughing, but none of them volunteered.

Legolas looked disappointed. "Come on now, the ritual is not yet fulfilled."

Aragorn shoved Faramir and said, "be a good host, Prince Faramir, and give this Elf what he wants."

Faramir, still laughing, took the twigs from Legolas. "Turn around," he said and gave Legolas a rapid series of gentle slaps with the bundle.

"Just enough to get the blood moving," Legolas said, staying Faramir's hand.

Beregond entered and Faramir hung up the twigs and took the bottle and glass from Beregond. He poured Legolas a drink and said, "waes hal!"

Legolas nodded smartly, a twinkle in his eye, and downed the ale. "Now I am complete," he said, and went back to his corner of the top bench.

Aragorn smiled and slapped Faramir on the rear. "Now you!"

Beregond sighed and said, "by your leave, my Lord…I apologize, but the heat is making my head hurt."

Faramir nodded. "Of course, I will see you on the morrow, Beregond."

Faramir shed his towel and sank into the hot tub, the bubbles tickling his skin as they raced to the surface. It was so hot, it took his breath away, but Faramir sat there for quite a while, until he really craved the cold water. When he got out of the cold tub, Aragorn was waiting for him with the bundle of twigs. Faramir grinned and shook his head resignedly. He turned around and clasped his hands in front of him while Aragorn treated his entire backside to a long series of slaps with the bundle. When it started to sting he said, "thank you, my Lord, that was more than adequate…"

Aragorn gave him an extra hard whack, causing Faramir to spin around and, before Aragorn could swing again, snatch the bundle from his hand. "You are not to be trusted with the tools of the bath, I see!" Faramir said, striking Aragorn across the arm with the twigs.

Aragorn escaped into the hot tub and Faramir poured himself a drink, downing the whole glass in one breath. "Ah," he gasped, wiping foam from his mouth with the back of his hand. He wrapped his towel back around his waist and lay down on the lower bench, careful not to disturb Gandalf, who was humming happily to himself.

Gimli snorted, awoke with a start and sat straight up. "I am ready now!" he declared.

"Patience, friend. I just got in," Aragorn said.

Gimli climbed down and removed his towel with a menacing gesture. "Move along now, laddie, or I will climb in there with you."

"Is that how you address a King, sir?" Aragorn asked indignantly.

"Nudity is the great equalizer," Gandalf observed with a smile.

Gimli looked down into the tub and smirked. "Aye, but nudity also makes it apparent that not _all_ things are equal!" he said with a hoot, and grabbed himself suggestively. "Now make room!" he said and began to climb in.

To a chorus of chuckles coming from the bench, Aragorn grimaced in disgust and hastily removed himself to the cold tub.

"All well, Mithrandir?" Faramir asked.

Gandalf raised his head. "I am quite well, and quite content not to splash around or get beaten with sticks, in case you were wondering." He lay his head back again.

"As you like, but you know not what you are missing," Aragorn said.

"Indeed, I do know. Do you think I never spent a winter night in Rohan during the last five hundred years?"

Faramir smiled, but lethargy had settled over him and his head was spinning from the drink and the heat. He did not stir, even when Aragorn stood over him, prodding him with the bundle of twigs. "I have not the energy to thrash the King," Faramir said. "Let Legolas do it."

Legolas happily complied, stopping after ever few strokes and asking, "enough?"

"More," Aragorn answered, and answered likewise again five times, his back reddening with each successive round. The sixth time Legolas asked, Aragorn drew in a sharp breath and said, "yes, enough." Legolas poured him a drink and he downed it, settling woozily on the upper bench.

Legolas waited by the cold tub to give Gimli his thrashing, too, and then they both shared another two large drinks, nearly finishing the bottle.

"Well," Gimli grunted in satisfaction. "That was the best bath I ever had!"

"We will join you for breakfast," Legolas said.

Faramir forced himself up into a seated position. "Yes, of course. Sleep well," he said, stretching his arms out and accidentally jostling Gandalf, who opened one eye to glare at him. "Sorry, Mithrandir."

After Legolas and Gimli left, Faramir reached over to the bottle and poured the last drink, handing it to Gandalf. "Here, you can skip straight to the drinking,"

Gandalf smiled and drank the ale with gusto. "Ah, the taste of Rohan," he said, shaking his head.

Faramir leaned his head back against Aragorn's leg and Aragorn rubbed Faramir's shoulders. Faramir groaned in appreciation, but said, "I had better go. I have yet another appointment this night."

Aragorn laughed. "Best not to keep that one waiting. Thank you for a memorable evening, Faramir. The vision of a naked dwarf wagging himself at me is forever etched in my mind. How can I ever repay you?"

Faramir looked up at him with a lazy smile. "Should I be afraid?"

* * *

**Note**: Carcharoth – the Wolf of Angband from _The Silmarillion_


	2. Chapter 2 Cyrin Gelig

**Chapter 2 – Ciryn Gelig or the Toil of a Troublous Voyage**

_**Note**: This chapter contains a game: there are names, places and events that parallel the story of Jason and the Argonauts. There are more than eight, though some are rather obscure or only loosely parallel the story. A summary of the allusions can be found at the end of chapter 3. _

The next morning, after Faramir reluctantly handed Elboron off to Maida, Éowyn helped him put on his light armor. Once he was dressed, she circled him, looking him up and down. "Husband, it has been a long time since I have seen you looking so…" she stopped her circling and her cheeks flushed. "Battle may not suit you, but this raiment does," she said, grabbing him around the waist and pulling him close.

Faramir smiled and pressed up against her. "I could tell them to wait," he suggested.

Éowyn thumped a fist against the leather on his chest. "You will not. Now go, and hurry back home safe and sound."

Faramir kissed her quickly. "I love you," he said.

Éowyn gave him a shove. "Go, go, go!"

Éowyn followed Faramir out of the house and into the courtyard of the estate where a small crowd had gathered to see off their Prince and to gawk at the Dwarf and the White Wizard. Aragorn was standing apart from the others, flanked by his solemn guards, and looked a little bereft. While Faramir checked Goldoron's tack, he surreptitiously watched the King and he could see that Éowyn was trying to cheer him up, but Aragorn must have been feeling a little sorry for himself because he was having none of it. Faramir chuckled softly, feeling a little sorry for both of them, then mounted his horse.

Aragorn walked over and put a hand on Faramir's knee. "May the Valar watch over you," he said quietly.

Faramir frowned and reached down to clasp Aragorn's shoulder. "I will come see you shortly after I return." Faramir hesitated, wondering what he could say to make Aragorn less unhappy. "Or would you have me come directly to you?"

Aragorn looked away and nodded. "I would."

Faramir's eyes slid over to Éowyn before he nodded. "Be well, my Lord." Aragorn's eyes briefly met his and he could not read them before the King turned away.

Beregond and a small contingent of Faramir's personal guard were standing by, along with Gandalf, Gimli and Legolas. "Gentlemen," Faramir said, beginning what he intended to be a very short speech, "long have we awaited the day when the seat of Isildur would be reclaimed for Gondor. It is our own doom that we must destroy it instead of rebuilding it, but if such a sorrow were the greatest of our trials to come, we would be counted fortunate indeed. Now, if you entrust your glory to my care, let our path no longer be hindered. To Minas Morgul! For Minas Ithil!" With a flourish, Faramir spurred on his mount and the others followed him through the gate. Faramir quickly looked back and saw Aragorn gesture with his chin, as if he were also saying "go!"

The company rode down the hill to the horse trail that followed the east bank of the Anduin, a group of children trailing after them as far as the river. The morning air was cool but close, promising a soupy heat by midday. Goldoron was lively and agitated, as if he knew they were setting off for some serious task. Faramir had to keep up a steady stream of muttering to prevent the horse from veering off into the water or knocking him off against a tree.

Legolas rode up next to Faramir and asked, "what's wrong with him?"

Goldoron swung his head against the neck of Legolas' horse, who protested with a rumbling huffing sound. Gimli, who was sitting behind Legolas, muttered, "filthy, unpredictable beasts."

Faramir shook his head. "I think he knows we're taking him somewhere he does not want to go. Perhaps he is ambivalent about tasting adventure again. No, wait, were you asking about my horse or about me?" he asked with a wink.

Legolas smiled. "Your horse. I would not have known you were also agitated, since you are conducting yourself with considerably more valor than he."

"I should hope so. Hear that, Goldoron? Do not shame us." Goldoron tugged at the bit, but after that, he seemed to make an effort at staying calm.

After a moment, Legolas said, "Agitation is an unhealthful emotion. What is the answer when your heart seeks in two directions at once?"

Faramir looked at Legolas, a little startled. He wondered if Legolas were thinking of something besides his ambivalence about their journey. "Are we speaking now of a human heart? Goldoron is a good horse, but I do not pretend to know his heart."

Legolas glanced at him coolly and Faramir knew Legolas had seen through his deflection. "I speak of neither humans nor of any other mortal creature."

"Ah," Faramir said, and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. He wished for something insightful to say, but his thoughts were too scattered to collect themselves.

Legolas abruptly turned away and urged his horse on, but Gimli protested, "hold on, now."

Legolas seemed determined to exit the conversation with Faramir, but Gimli reached around Legolas and gave a tug on the reins, sending the horse into Goldoron's path.

Once they sorted themselves out again Gimli said, "Prince Faramir, you are learned and have spent many years walking these lands. I would like to ask you about a legend I have heard about the valley of the river Morgulduin."

Faramir smiled. "I believe I know what tale that is, Master Gimli. You ask after the "Face of Aulë" in a bluff near the crossroads."

Gimli nodded eagerly. "They say the natural formation of the cliffside resembles the profile of the Vala who made my race to be his own children."

"I have seen this place, my friend," Legolas said, his grim mood falling away. "If fortune favors us, I will take you there."

"I would very much like to see it," Gimli said.

Faramir nodded. "We will seek it out, if not on the way there, perhaps on the return journey."

They reached Osgiliath in the noon hour, just as the sunshine was becoming unpleasantly hot. Gandalf and Beregond suggested that they press on, but Faramir decided that they should lunch and then rest there through the heat of the day. While the others sat under the shade of a canopy, Faramir made the rounds through the garrison, greeting soldiers and checking on the ongoing repairs. For a while, he let himself get lost in memories, thinking about the war and of Boromir who had long commanded Osgiliath, but soon the shadows of the courtyard's newly planted saplings began to lengthen and Faramir roused his companions so they could set off across the river and up the eastward road.

A short way along the road there was a boulder in which was carved the name Lendnos. "Waystation?" Faramir muttered to Beregond. "This is new. I do not think I was informed that a garrison town had been founded," he said, mildly disconcerted.

A tavern and a few rough houses tightly clustered on the road were all that there was of the village. Next to the houses were tidy garden plots, where a few women could be seen working. Another woman was standing on a ladder, repairing a shutter on the tavern, and as the company passed through the village, yet another woman emerged from the tavern to watch them pass. She was young and beautiful, with a head of lush, auburn hair and eyes the color of sapphires, which is to say that she was not a Gondorian woman, and she caught Faramir's eye.

"Wait," said Faramir, holding up a hand so that the others would stop. The woman's smile fled from her face and she looked a little afraid as the Prince of Ithilien dismounted his horse and approached her. "Good day, my lady. Do I not know you?" Faramir asked, a puzzled expression on his face.

The woman's frightened expression softened into something strange and sly. She cocked her head and said, "yes, my Lord." She called over to the others, "perhaps I could offer you some refreshment? This is the last tavern you will find along this road." To Faramir she said, "I would be honored to provide you and your esteemed companions with a respite."

"Prince Faramir," Gandalf said in a patronizing tone, "we are well-rested. We should press on."

"You own this tavern?" Faramir asked.

"Yes," the woman answered with pride.

Faramir could not remember how he knew this distinctively beautiful woman. He looked to the others, and seeing Gandalf's narrowing eyes, accepted their accusation: he was stalling. Faramir glanced back at the woman, whose look was guarded. Her hair glowed like molten rock.

"Thirsty, Gimli?" Faramir asked, knowing which of the group would be most likely to take up the woman on her invitation.

"Right behind you," said Gimli, leaping down from Legolas' horse, pushing between Faramir and the woman, and entering the tavern.

Gandalf sighed with impatience but Legolas just smirked, tied up his horse, and followed Gimli in. The woman seated them at one table, Faramir's guards at another, and brought them all drinks. After watching her go about her business for a few minutes, Faramir approached her. She fixed him with a gaze that told him what he had already guessed: not only did she, like most of the residents of his realm, know far more about him than he knew about her, but she knew more about him than he might care for her to know. The thought enticed him and made him slightly nervous.

"What is your name?" he asked quietly.

The woman looked at him evenly, just a hint of warmth in her eyes. "You probably heard me called Roheryn."

Faramir nodded. It was a common nickname given to the occasional Rohirric girl who turned up in Minas Tirith, usually a widow or an orphan of mixed parentage. "But what is your name?" he asked again.

The woman blinked several times. She did not trust him. Why?

"They still call me by that name," she replied.

Faramir looked away. What was she afraid of? Roheryn. Where did he know her from? How could he forget those eyes? When he looked into those eyes again, Roheryn was smiling wryly.

"Do not tax your memory, my Lord. It was a long time ago and neither of us was then who we are now." She hesitated, glancing back at the others. When she turned to look at Faramir again, there was a definite glint in her eye. She spoke in a low tone and said, "besides, it is not right for a subject to recall to her lord the secrets of his long-forgotten youth."

Faramir sharply drew in a breath. "Secrets, yes, but not forgotten," he said, barely above a whisper. "You were a servant in the house of Lalaith."

The woman's lips bore a smile that was equal parts bitterness and affection. "Not forgotten, indeed. You have a good memory, my Lord," she said, bowing her head.

The smile had a visceral affect on Faramir, and he suddenly felt ashamed. When he was younger, he had employed Lalaith, a high-born courtesan, as a tutor like any other. But he found it hard to dismiss her when his learning was complete and after one intimate but chaste night, he realized that the exchange of coin had become a charade behind which something deeper played, and it had frightened him. Since that night, he had not returned to Lalaith's house, and it was of this that he was ashamed.

"Did Lalaith survive the war? Is she well? Do you know?" Faramir asked all at once.

Roheryn looked at him curiously and Faramir's sense of shame deepened. He regretted his cowardice in avoiding her at the time, but there was also no honorable way for him to deal with her, or not deal with her, in the present. This was unfinished business, and it wasn't even Roheryn's business. Faramir began to feel sullen and wished he hadn't stopped to speak with this woman.

"Would you like to join me in the other room?" Roheryn asked, indicating a drawn curtain behind her.

Faramir frowned, concerned that she had bad news about Lalaith. He glanced back at his companions who were laughing and drinking. "I will be just a moment," he called to them and followed Roheryn into the adjoining room.

Roheryn closed the curtain behind them and bade him sit down at the table there. She twirled a finger through her hair as she sat down, and when she withdrew her finger, the hair went spiraling back down to her shoulder. Faramir realized he was holding his breath. "Lalaith?" he prompted.

"I last saw her about a year ago, just before I came here. I stopped to bid her farewell and to ask for her blessing on my new life. She is fine," Roheryn said cautiously.

Faramir sighed with relief. "I am glad to hear it." His heart thumped painfully in his chest, and then resumed its normal rhythm.

They stared at each other for a moment before Roheryn replied, "I am surprised that you care."

"Do not be," said Faramir sharply.

Again, Roheryn gave him an odd look. "My Lord, are you not often in the City?"

Faramir pursed his lips. "I cannot just drop in on her."

"You could," Roheryn pressed, her eyes flashing again.

"I would not."

Roheryn nodded, and Faramir realized that she did not look away from him, as he expected. However much he disliked the unease Roheryn provoked in him, Faramir found it a pleasant surprise that a barmaid could be so bold to the Prince and put him so quickly off balance. His mood lightened as the woman's closeness and familiarity began to have a slightly intoxicating effect on him. He noticed that she had faint freckles across the bridge of her nose.

"She was a good mistress," Roheryn finally said.

"I…I respected her. And cared for her. Were you long in her service? I must have seen you there not less than five years ago."

"I was not long in her household. I only saw you twice before you stopped coming around." There was an awkward pause and Roheryn began to twirl her hair again. "I was her maid for about another year after that."

"And then?" Faramir inquired.

"There was a man, he owned a tavern, also in the Third Circle," she said, her eyes cast down. "He wanted to marry me. Lalaith said I was too young, but he wooed me and when I told her I loved him, then she allowed me to marry him." She smiled sadly and looked again at Faramir, all of the guile gone from her expression.

"Where is your husband now?" Faramir asked, wishing he had not already guessed the answer.

"Under the Pelennor." Roheryn again blinked rapidly, this time chasing tears from her sight.

Faramir bowed his head. "I am sorry."

"By some miracle, the tavern escaped the fires, but the memories were too great a burden for me to bear." Roheryn again let a curl of hair cascade down, released from her finger. She looked at Faramir, but her eyes said she was far away. "So I sold it. I knew other widows who wanted to leave the City, to start somewhere new, so we came here."

"You have done much in one year," Faramir said. His chest felt tight and his feelings were muddled.

"If we had any men with us, it would have gone faster, no doubt," Roheryn said grimly, turning his praise into an implied criticism. "But we are happy this way and willing to sacrifice if it means we can be the mistresses of our own fates."

Faramir felt a surge of emotion towards Roheryn, both pride and protectiveness, which he strove to contain. "And are you?" he asked. "Are you mistresses of your own fates? Surely so close to the garrison…"

Roheryn barked out a laugh. "In my time with mistress Lalaith, I did learn a thing or two about how a woman might earn a living with dignity, if that is what you are asking, Prince Faramir. I assure you, the women of Lendnos are their own mistresses, on or off their backs."

Faramir laughed at this and Roheryn shot him a puzzled look. His edginess melted away at last and he asked in a teasing tone, "were you trying to shock me? Did you think I would be scandalized?"

Roheryn blushed a little and it made her look very young. "I thought, when I realized who you were, well, you have a certain reputation, my Lord. You are said to be pure and honorable."

Faramir chuckled at this. "I think you mean that people say I am a wet blanket!"

Roheryn smiled shyly. "I thought that if you found out, you might force us to leave."

Faramir shook his head. "I see no reason to do so. I confess that I am not so much pure as pragmatic. And as for honor, there is much of that in what you do, as well. You have worked hard, repopulating and cultivating the land, and for that work you have earned the right to live here, in my eyes and in the sight of the King's law." He held her gaze for a while and read her changing mood: she did not blink or look away.

Eventually, Roheryn seemed to believe him and nodded, so Faramir rose to leave. "Roheryn," he said, his eyes narrowing, "if someone claiming authority should ever threaten to make you leave, or interfere with the affairs of this village in any way, I would have you send word to me. Will you do this?"

Roheryn smiled more warmly and rose from her chair. "Of course I will, my Lord. Thank you." She moved so that she was between Faramir and the curtain that hid them from the others in the adjoining room. She was close enough that Faramir could smell the grassy scent of her hair and feel the heat coming from her body which now loudly announced itself to Faramir through its full, soft curves and tantalizing expanses of freckled flesh. Faramir stood still, as if the sudden electric charge in the room had stunned him.

Roheryn looked up into Faramir's eyes, then cast them down again. She reached out a hand and placed her fingertips against his chest, and Faramir did not doubt she could tell that his heart was pounding heavily. "My Lord," she said, a nervous smile flitting across her face. "My only trade is running this tavern. I seek no comfort with the soldiers, but there are no other men here." She looked again up at Faramir, a wistful plea in her eyes. "I know you are a good man…" her gaze faltered and Faramir's heart ached.

"Roheryn," he said softly, his eyes inexorably drawn to her rose-colored lips.

"Éopryt," she said. "My name is Éopryt."

Faramir closed his eyes and took a long, slow breath, cursing his weakness and ruing his man's nature. He opened his eyes and said with feeling, "Éopryt, you are beautiful. You should find a new husband to share in the ripening of your womanhood."

Her deep blue eyes shot through Faramir as she said, "I do not want a new husband."

Faramir nodded in understanding. Then he reached out and lightly touched her hair, which had turned a dark sable in the dim light of the little room. "I cannot…"

"You will not," she corrected him, her eyes locked onto his.

Faramir smiled softly. "I willnot give you the comfort that you seek," he said, with some difficulty. He pulled a lock of her hair to his lips and gently kissed it. "You should marry again, or if you do not wish to marry, at least choose someone to give you children."

"I did. I chose you," Éopryt said firmly, but Faramir just shook his head and steeled himself against his body's willfulness.

Éopryt sighed deeply, her cheeks flushing. "You are welcome any time, my Lord," she said and broke his gaze, but she did not apologize for her forwardness or take back her bold words. She just stepped away from the curtain and Faramir passed through into the other room.

"Prince Faramir," Gandalf began in a righteously indignant tone. "We must…"

"We ride now," Faramir barked, walking straight out of the tavern. He approached Goldoron and said sternly, "you watch yourself. I am in no mood for more of what we had this morning."

Goldoron snuffed at the bag hanging at Faramir's side. "You get a treat after you show you can control yourself," Faramir scolded, swiftly mounting the horse.

Faramir's mood continued to sour in the blistering heat. His back, covered in form-fitting leather armor, was sweating and itching, and there was nothing he could do about it. His thoughts ran in fretful circles, skipping swiftly over the persistent recollection of Eopryt's green scent and the cool desire in her eyes.

Gandalf rode up next to him and glanced at him sidelong. "Can you smell it?"

Faramir looked at him sharply. "What?" he asked, wondering if the Wizard were reading his mind.

"The stench. It's getting stronger," Gandalf said, gesturing toward the east.

Faramir took a deep breath and felt a familiar dread seize him. "Hm," he said thoughtfully. Before the encounter with Éopryt, he had been thinking about what they would do once they reached the Black City, but he now realized that they should begin to prepare themselves for lesser dangers now. Their road took them along the Morgulduin, which for many years had been a river of poison that ruined both the land and Men's minds. Its waters carved into flesh but its fumes were even more dangerous, spreading through the land and slowly driving Men mad.

Gandalf reached out and touched him gently on the arm. "Remember: we will all be affected by the unlight of this place. What you are feeling now might be darkened already by some external device."

Faramir nodded and smiled grimly. "Yes. Let me remind the others." Faramir turned around to address the members of his personal guard. "As we draw nearer to Mordor, please recall your defenses against the darkness. Think before you speak or act, and beware of tricks of the mind. Do not heed the call to wrath or despair."

"And do not heed the call of nature if you want to make the Crossroads by nightfall!" Gimli added.

Faramir looked skeptically at the Dwarf. "You had a bit of ale yourself, Master Dwarf. Do not be ashamed to ask for a rest if you need one!"

"Unlike your race, we Dwarves are continent."

"Not as continent as the Elves," Legolas smirked.

Gandalf chuckled appreciatively and said to Faramir, "a bit of mirth is just the medicine we'll need. Find it in yourself and don't let it slip from your grasp again."

Faramir looked at Gandalf and saw concern in his eyes. "I know," he said, feeling a bit like a chastened child.

After Faramir turned back to face the Ephel Dúath, Legolas began singing a merry woodland song, and Gandalf hummed along in harmony. Faramir noted that Legolas seemed more himself than he had of late. Have I not given him the resources he needs or the opportunities to do work that satisfies him? Faramir wondered. Or perhaps now he is cheered by better company than he finds at Emyn Arnen?

Faramir took a drink of water from his flask and remembered the apple in his bag. He leaned forward to give Goldoron the apple. He reached around and hugged the horse's neck and whispered in his ear, "what say you – are we friends again?" Goldoron huffed non-commitally.

Faramir turned to Beregond and said, "take a man and scout ahead a ways, will you?"

Beregond nodded. "Of course, my Lord." For the next hour, Beregond and his man rode ahead and returned several times, with nothing remarkable to report.

"Halt!" Faramir called out, recognizing a landmark.

"I knew it!" Gimli exclaimed. "I knew he would burst before the rest of us!"

Faramir ignored him. "There is a fresh spring off the road that way," he said gesturing toward a stand of half-dead trees. "It is the last sweet water we will find, so we should replenish our supply." He turned and said to Gimli, "and those that require it may take a rest."

Legolas was off his horse in the blink of an eye. "I know where the spring is. I will go."

Gimli awkwardly tumbled down after him and plopped himself on a log in the shade. "I need a rest, 'tis true. A rest from that beast's broad back!"

Legolas was gone for quite a while, so Gimli offered to go fetch him. When they returned, Legolas was drenched.

"What happened?" Faramir asked warily.

"The lad nearly drowned!" Gimli exclaimed. "Had to pull him out by the hair."

"I fell in," Legolas said, as perplexed as the others.

"Impossible!" said Gandalf.

"If ye ask me, I think a water sprite fell in love with my pretty friend here and tried to bring him home with her!" Gimli said, guffawing.

Gandalf looked at Faramir with alarm.

"He is joking," Legolas reassured them.

Faramir cocked his head and Gandalf raised his eyebrows. "Do not be too sure," the Wizard said, urging his horse onward. "You know very well that grown Elves do not just slip on rocks or lose their footing on muddy banks. You may be more correct than you realize, Master Dwarf. We should make haste to the crossroads. The sun is setting."

Less than a mile later, Beregond and the other guard returned to the main party and Faramir saw that something was amiss. "What is it, Captain?"

Beregond looked more puzzled than alarmed. "It's a bit strange, my Lord. There's a man up ahead. He is looking rather poorly, and he seems upset. He was crying out, and when he saw us…" Beregond raised his eyebrows in a comical way.

"What?" Faramir asked, smiling.

"He.." Beregond blushed, then recovered himself. "It was personal, sir. Really rather cheeky of him, but how did he know?" Beregond shook his head. "And then he bid me to bring the others to him."

"He knew of our coming? He is not a Ranger, is he?" Faramir asked with some alarm. He did not like it that so many events of the day were taking him by surprise.

"No, no, nothing like that. Just a crazy old man, I suppose. He is just a ways down the road, my Lord," Beregond said, seeming eager. "Let us go off the road and up that hill - I'll show you where he is.

The party made their way over a small hill and found themselves overlooking an encampment where an old man, dressed in a stained and ragged azure robe, was moaning pitifully. They watched the old man as he groped along a tree branch until he found a small, hard pear.

"He is blind," Faramir whispered to Legolas, who had dismounted next to him.

"Faramir, son of Denethor is nigh," the old man called out. He then consumed the pear as if he had not eaten for days. "They dare not approach in your presence! Ah, it is well you are here!" the old man cackled, and groped for another pear.

"He is mad," Gimli muttered.

Faramir and the others moved down the hill and approached the old man.

"Where is Beregond, Captain of Emyn Arnen?" the old man asked, turning his head as if his eyes could see.

"Here I am," Beregond answered, and Faramir noted a strange intensity in his eyes.

The old man turned his face toward Beregond. "You have done me a kindness in bringing your Master to me, and now I would like to ease your mind. I will answer the question you asked before. It will be a boy child, and I will tell you more: it will be well if you name him Borlas."

Beregond glowed. "Thank you…"

"My name is Finlas," the man said, bowing slightly.

"Thank you, Finlas," Beregond said.

Faramir watched this exchange with interest. "Finlas, are you a seer?" he asked.

The old man answered him with a rhyme:

_My sight was blighted by Morgul spells;  
I do not claim to see.  
But far away my pleas were heard  
And Elbereth speaks through me_

"How dare he?" Legolas muttered, but Gandalf lay a hand on his arm.

"Finlas, I knew you in another time, and I think you know me now," said Gandalf. "How came you to this place?"

Finlas smiled, showing his rotting teeth. "How indeed, Gandalf the White?

_It is a long tale and not fit for all ears  
Those who live long might be there to hear.  
Better to ask then why do I stay?  
For Orcs steal my food by night and by day._

"There are Orcs about?" Faramir exclaimed. He gripped his sword hilt in agitation. The Ranger patrols had not reported…or had they? Suddenly Faramir felt awash in uncertainty and he wondered if the increasingly foul air was playing tricks on his mind.

"Why do you stay, Finlas?" Gandalf asked, his eyes alight with curiosity.

The old man answered:

_Of my errand to Mordor I cannot tell.  
Now hunger has left me too weak to flee,  
And victim to a band of Orcs I fell,  
Who steal all the food that is given to me._

Gimli strode up to the old man and hoisted his axe off his back. "Let's have at them, then. My blade misses the taste of Orc blood."

"And my arrows have been too long in their sheath," said Legolas, standing at Gimli's side.

"Which way do we go?" Gimli asked.

Finlas smiled and stopped speaking in verse. He said in a considerably less oracular tone, "just wait – they will come to us. My lords, give me some of your provisions, and then hide yourselves in the woods."

"This is unacceptable," Faramir muttered to Beregond as they crouched behind a rock. "How have we allowed a band of Orcs to roam freely so close to the crossroads?"

Beregond looked grim. "Perhaps they are newly come out of Morgul."

Faramir tossed his head angrily. "From the looks of this fellow, these villains have been pillaging his supplies for quite some time. And why haven't our men given him carriage out of here? Something is very wrong."

"Then it is good that we came," Beregond answered sensibly.

Faramir could not shake his feeling of unease as they lay in wait. His instincts were warning him of something, but he did not sense that the danger came from the old man. Old evils were at work here, and Faramir's spirits sank a bit further.

They watched Finlas lay out some food on a log. His hands were shaking badly, and apparently he could not restrain himself from gulping down a few mouthfuls as he worked. Soon Faramir heard an arrow launched from his left side, and an Orc came tumbling down the opposite hillside. Faramir silently cursed Legolas' impatience as he shouted, "attack!"

It turned out, however, that there were only three Orcs. Gimli and Legolas made quick work of them and Faramir did not have to wipe any blood from his hands, for which he was grateful. He sat down on the dirt next to the old man and watched him devour his meal. Gandalf joined them while the others dragged off the corpses for burning.

At last, Finlas finished the food and Faramir offered him his water skin. "Thank you, son of Denethor. Thank you for coming to my aid."

"Why do you call me thus?" Faramir asked quietly. "Denethor has passed beyond the circles of the world. Of all my family, only I remain."

"Nonetheless, son of Denethor you remain," Finlas said and patted Faramir on the knee. His hands were steady now, and Faramir felt strangely reassured by his touch. Then the old man said,

_As to black was Túrin's fate,  
So yours to white shall be.  
Your will shall lead you toward the light,  
And right shall follow thee_

Faramir shook his head in disbelief, but he smiled. "May it be so," he said.

"Will you stay here long, friend?" Gandalf asked.

"Until it is time for me to go," Finlas answered. "Not long now, I think."

"Can we leave you with more provisions?" Faramir asked.

"I will not say no. Your kindness is most appreciated and I would thank you with these words:

_A face has stood a thousand years  
But in that face there is a flaw,  
And if you pick that place to face your fear,  
In your place that face will fall._

Faramir stared for a while at the old man, committing his words to memory. Gandalf was silent, his fingers slowly drumming on the end of his staff. Faramir glanced at him but he just pursed his lips.

Beregond finished giving the old man a share of their supplies and called out, "we are done here, my Lord."

"It has gotten dark," Faramir said, looking around. "What a strange day."

The company made for the crossroads, but a foul mist was rising from the Morgulduin, blurring their sight and befuddling their thought. There was no wind, yet the fog billowed up the hillside, burning their eyes and nostrils while chilling their bones and hearts. What was more, the fog glowed as if the moon shone through it, but the light only made it more opaque. Soon they could barely see each other through the mists. They made straight for the road, yet seemed only to be going in a circle around a hill. When they passed the same escarpment a second time, Faramir dismounted his horse and dropped to the ground, sitting cross-legged and trying to clear his head.

"I would rather climb this wretched rock than pass it again perched on the ass of this horse," Gimli grumbled, sliding off his mount.

Faramir looked to Legolas, who also sank to the ground. "I do not know, Faramir," the Elf said softly. "I have passed this way several times in the last year, but never have I seen such a fog. It is as if we were meant to get lost."

Faramir glanced worriedly at Gandalf. "That is what I am afraid of. Something is working against us now."

Legolas nodded in agreement and Faramir sighed.

"I feel I have not been paying proper attention to these lands, Legolas. I did not know of the garrison town, and if Orcs have been raiding again without my knowing…" Faramir turned to look at Legolas and saw his face in profile. Suddenly Faramir's heart skipped a beat and he glanced up at the cliff. "The face," he whispered. "Legolas, is this not the place we sought for our friend Gimli? Does the Face of Aulë watch us from above?"

Legolas looked up, "yes, you're right. This has to be the place, though I cannot see the face now for the fog. 'Tis a pity. Perhaps on the day of our return…"

Faramir leapt to his feet and cried, "fly forward! Now, everyone! Into the woods!" He mounted Goldoron, who lunged with impatience, but Faramir held him back until everyone else was in motion. Behind them, they heard a great cracking sound, and then a noise like continual thunder, until all was quiet. The others looked at Faramir for an explanation.

"The Face of Aulë has fallen," he said, his voice trembling. "The old man saved our lives."

Gimli looked stricken. "That was the Face of Aulë?" He walked over to the pile of boulders at the foot of the bluff, lay his hand on the nearest rock and bowed his head. Legolas followed him and did the same.

"Do not give your heart to disappointment, Master Dwarf," Gandalf said sharply. "Not here, not now. We need your wit and wisdom to fortify us."

Gimli and Legolas returned and quietly mounted their horse.

"I have found the road!" Beregond cried in the distance.

"Some good news, at last!" Gimli sighed.

Faramir, still shaking from the near miss, slouched forward on his horse. "I fear I have also lost that bit of mirth I found in myself earlier," he said glumly.

"Who has a story or song to hasten us along the road?" Gandalf called out.

That night they camped at the crossroads, where Mablung and two dozen Rangers would join them in the morning. The outpost's only shelter was a large flet in an ancient tree, but it was built to sleep ten men at most and was already occupied by the two sentries on duty.

"Let us set up a camp on the ground," Faramir suggested.

"Under any other circumstances, you would not find me clambering into one of these forsaken trees," Gimli declared, "but with this foul air that is about tonight, I would rather sleep with the birds than lay out on the open ground. Who knows what will tumble out of Mordor tonight!"

"If even Gimli won't camp, then we had better ask them to make room for us above," Gandalf said.

Faramir sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose in distaste. It seemed as if the darkness were a tangible force sent out from Morgul to stop them. "We will post a watch tonight," he declared.

While the others slept on the crowded platform, two men at a time were posted to guard duty below. It was a dreadful task, for the fog was oppressive and distorted the forest's sounds so that the cry of an owl sounded like the scream of a child, and the stirring of a fox seemed to be the footsteps of an enemy.

Faramir settled into an uneasy sleep, fighting a battle to keep his heart from sinking into despair. It is just your old enemy the darkness, he told himself, and he is much weakened. It is nothing more than a passing cloud, a whisper of evil, a wisp of smoke from a burned out fire…

In his dream, the fire burned Faramir's skin and the smoke choked his breath. His father cried out for him, "where is Faramir? Where is my son?" Gandalf stood above him and lifted Faramir from the fire, and whispered, "do not throw away your life." Faramir shook his head. "I will not oppose his will. He will remember he loves me ere the end." Faramir heard Aragorn's voice, but the smoke was too thick; he could not see the King. "Where is Faramir? Faramir," Aragorn called, "come to my voice." Faramir moved in the direction of Aragorn's voice, but his father restrained him with a hand on his arm. "Do not take my son from me!" Denethor called back to Aragorn. To Faramir he hissed, "heed him not – he is last of a ragged house long bereft of lordship and dignity." Faramir felt sorrow tear through him. "Father, he is the King," Faramir pled. Denethor's grip on his arm tightened. "I would have naught rather than life diminished, or love halved, or honor abated." Pulling Faramir close to him, Denethor whispered, "I will rule my own end, son. Why should we not go to death side by side?"

"No!" Faramir cried aloud, and found Gandalf's hand on his arm. He looked around but he could see nothing. It was as if a cloak surrounded them with a darkness that was not just an absence of light, but a thing with a being of its own.

Faramir heard Gandalf say tensely, "Faramir, what did you see?"

"The fire," whispered Faramir, who felt a fit of trembling coming. "Father." He took a deep, slow breath to steady himself. It seemed a voice was shouting in his head, demanding he ask a question to which he had never yet wanted to know the answer. "Mithrandir," Faramir said, fear nearly choking his words, "what happened that night?"

"Come below with me, my boy," said Gandalf, rising. "We will take our watch now."

They descended to the ground and relieved Beregond and his man of their watch. Gandalf lit up his pipe and offered a puff to Faramir, who accepted, hoping it would calm his nerves.

Gandalf put a hand on Faramir's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Do you really want to know, or is this some torture the darkness of this night has devised to poison your mind against the task at hand?"

Faramir made an effort to drive away his fear and examine the dream more dispassionately. "I think there are things I already know about that night, even though it seemed I was not aware of what was happening at the time. I will tell you what I saw, and I would like you to tell me if it really happened or if it was just a dream."

Gandalf nodded. "I will do this."

"I know that Denethor had been driven mad by the Palantir, that he had lost hope for himself, for me, for all the West. I know that he thought to bring about our swift demise through fire. This much you told me in the days after the War."

Faramir paused but Gandalf remained silent. Faramir closed his eyes and recalled the dream, and the others before it. "Did you bear me away from the pyre, and did he call for me?"

"Yes," Gandalf replied.

"Before that, did you speak to him of Aragorn?"

Gandalf was quiet for a moment, then said, "your father spoke to me of what he saw in the Palantir, which naturally confirmed his long-held prejudice against me. He had formed the opinion that I was behind a plot to supplant him as ruler of Gondor."

"Which you were," Faramir noted.

"Quite right," Gandalf agreed.

Faramir stiffened his resolve in the face of what he had yet to ask. His heart ached and his stomach groaned in revolt against the very idea, but he had to know how far his father had gone. "Did Denethor refuse to recognize Aragorn's right to the throne?"

"He was not willing to surrender his charge," Gandalf answered, and Faramir felt the wave of revulsion overtake him.

"Until the return of the King," Faramir spat. "That was his vow."

Gandalf put his arm around the Steward's shoulder and drew Faramir towards him. "Yes," he said simply.

Faramir waited until a coldness settled into his heart and then he asked, "then, did he bid me farewell? Before the end, did he say he loved me?"

Gandalf sighed. "My child, did you see that in your dream?"

"I did not," Faramir answered, "but I hoped that in this, my dreaming would prove false."

* * *

**Note**: The character Lalaith is borrowed with permission from Lady Aranel's story The Captain's Last Gift 


	3. Chapter 3 The Black City

**Chapter 3 – The Black City**

Faramir slept for a few hours and awoke when the sky was beginning to get light. Though his body still craved rest, his mind and his heart felt cleansed after his conversation with Gandalf. He quietly descended from the flet and doused his face in clean water from his flask. Then he looked up and saw a statue of a king that he had seen a hundred times before: the crossroads' ancient relic which time had toppled and dark ones had defiled. But recently someone, probably Mablung's Rangers, had erased all traces of the Orcs' mockery and had managed to place the head of the Númenorian king back upon its neck.

Faramir nodded respectfully to the restored king before turning to feed the fire in the outpost's small hearth and order his thoughts about the coming day. They were only ten miles from Minas Morgul, but he had no doubt that those would be hard miles and when he reviewed the company in his mind, he decided that not every member of his personal guard was up to the challenges ahead. Beregond's men, though well-suited for scouting and fighting, would have to stay behind. In the fog of the previous night, Beregond himself had again proven the stoutness of his heart and the soundness of his mind and Faramir wished to bring him, but Beregond would not likely leave his men.

Soon after dawn, a troupe of Rangers arrived and Mablung exclaimed, "so now you've been promoted to scullery maid, I see!"

Faramir embraced Mablung warmly, then pushed him away, joking, "You smell like a Ranger!"

Mablung's smile faded. "And you smell of fear. You had a hard night?"

Faramir shook his head. "Today is a new day."

Mablung nodded, but still he looked grim.

"You and your men will be at my side," Faramir informed him. "I will ask Beregond and my personal guard to wait for us here."

"That is for the best. They do not know how to outwit the darkness."

"Do not be over-confident," Faramir warned. "Today we go to a stronghold of the darkness, though it be much diminished. Make sure your men are ready."

After eating a hearty breakfast, the group set out from the crossroads in good spirits. All was quiet for a few miles, and as the road veered uphill and away from the Morgulduin, the air improved and Mablung's men began to sing a bawdy soldier's tune. Faramir shushed them and informed Mablung of their encounter with Orcs the previous day.

"This far south?" Mablung exclaimed.

"So you are as surprised as I was," Faramir said, frowning.

Mablung lowered his head, then shouted, "Ëarnil, scout ahead and keep an eye on the hills. Look for Orc sign."

Soon the road curved south around the shoulder of the mountain, the hills grew steeper and rockier, and the mists from the river again began to encircle the horses' legs. When the road met up with the river, the fog burned their eyes and swam in their minds. Faramir's limbs began to feel heavy and he wished he had gotten more rest.

"The sooner we are away from this accursed river, the better," Gimli muttered.

"When the road turns east again, we will be almost to the bridge, and from there we will leave the river." Faramir said. "Though I do not promise anything better once we are on the other side. From the bridge, we should be within sight of our destination."

"Have you never been to the bridge?" Legolas asked.

Faramir shook his head. "I doubt that any of us have ever been even this far."

"I was here once, long ago," Gandalf said quietly. "And as you know, Frodo passed this way and told me of what he saw. We must be careful when crossing the bridge. You are right: it is easily watched from the gates of the city. However, the fog may conceal us, for a while."

Suddenly, something knocked Ëarnil off his horse but he was too far ahead and the fog was too thick for Faramir to see what it was. Then a small boulder landed in front of Goldoron, who reared up and skittered backwards. Faramir looked up the cliffside and shouted, "troll!"

Legolas was already letting his arrow fly by the time Faramir had his bow in hand and soon a flurry of Rangers' arrows was flying toward the ledge where a young mountain troll was perched. The pricks of the arrows only enraged the beast, and his surprisingly shrill cries spooked some of the horses so that they backed away, coming dangerously close to the edge of the embankment.

"Turn back!" Faramir commanded. "Form a line of defense beyond that last outcropping." He dodged a handful of rocks hurled by the troll, then helped the wounded ranger mount his horse and followed him back down the road.

On the far side of the jutting rock they waited, arrows nocked, but the troll did not approach. They could hear it wailing and grumbling just around the bend, but it came no closer.

"Perhaps his heart is not in it," Mablung said.

Faramir lowered his bow. "Perhaps he only wants to hinder us."

"Nonsense," Gimli interjected. "He is a _troll_. He wants to crush our skulls, rend our limbs from our bodies, and pluck out our hearts. The only thing stopping him is that the ledge he's on has a shortage of boulders for him to hurl at us. He'll come down, find a nice pile of rocks, and…there!" Gimli cried, ducking as a rock whizzed past him. "As I was saying!"

"Fire!" Faramir ordered, but again, the arrows did not do much to deter the troll, who had found plenty of rocks along the road to serve as his missiles. Faramir was forced to order his men back down the road again, and when they reached a place in the road that had some shelter, he looked around and noticed a horse with an empty saddle. "Where are Legolas and Gimli?"

Ahead on the road and around the bend, the troll bellowed loudly and then made a sound of dismay.

Gandalf frowned. "We had better go find them. Now."

Faramir nodded. "Enough of this. Draw your swords. When we attack, cut his legs out from under him, then aim for the throat."

"There will be no need for that," Gimli announced, walking down the road toward them.

"Our little friend has decided to go for a swim," Legolas added, following behind.

Faramir glanced down into the river and saw the troll floating downstream, spluttering and choking in the foul water. "Ëarnil," he said to the wounded soldier, "return to the crossroads. Alert Captain Beregond that a drowned troll will need to be fished from the river before its foul carcass despoils the Anduin. The water will likely have partially dissolved him by then, so they should be warned that he will have a mess on his hands."

Then Faramir turned to Legolas, suppressing a smile. "What did you do?"

"He did nothing!" Gimli exclaimed. "I was the one who tripped him."

Legolas raised his eyebrows. "I was the one who distracted him so that you could trip him!"

Gimli continued to argue with Legolas, who helped him back on to the horse. Faramir smiled to himself: Legolas was happy again. Perhaps the Elf was torn between cultivating peace and seeking adventure, between who he had been and who he was becoming. And perhaps he sensed he should not stay where he no longer belonged, yet he was loath to go where his friend could not follow. Faramir's heart stirred with pity for the Elf, and for Gandalf and the others who were leaving Middle Earth. Which was harder, he wondered, to leave or to be left behind?

The road narrowed and they proceeded single file, scanning the cliff and the river. Faramir felt the closeness of the passage press in on him, and he found it harder and harder to breathe the foul air. Everything was silent but for the whoosh of the river below and the clopping of the horses' hooves on the rocky path. Faramir closed his eyes briefly, fatigue overtaking him again. His mind drifted in a half-dream of the jewel reflecting the light from the coals in Aragorn's pipe, the flame leaping higher as he held Gandalf back from the pyre…

"The bridge is gone!" called a voice in the distance.

Faramir urged his horse on and approached the bridge's pylons, which were fashioned as fearsome beasts. The embankment rose into nothingness; the bridge deck was completely destroyed from one side of the river to the other. Below it, the Morgulduin foamed blackly around the pilings that once supported the bridge, and Faramir's heart sank.

Mablung rode up next to him, followed by Legolas and Gimli.

"We cannot cross," Faramir said grimly.

"Not here," Mablung replied.

Faramir looked at him, his brow furrowed. The road they were on was to have crossed the bridge and than split in two: left to Mordor and ahead to Minas Morgul. But on their side of the river, the only path forward was the staircase to Cirith Ungol.

"There must be another way," Mablung muttered.

"If there weren't, we wouldn't have found so much trouble along the road," Faramir said. "Something in there has been working against us. Orcs, trolls, they are coming from somewhere and I will wager it is the Black City that has been nurturing the evil in their hearts."

"Then we will find out how they have been getting across," Legolas said, dismounting. "I will climb up a ways and take a look further down the valley."

"I'm coming with you," Gimli said. "Yesterday you fell into a pool. I won't have you slipping off a cliff today."

"The rest of you, come back down the road a ways," Gandalf called. "We don't want to show ourselves too readily."

Mablung and Faramir rode back to join the rest of the party and dismounted. Faramir brought a map out of his saddle bag. Gandalf approached and read the map over his shoulder.

"Perhaps we can go back to the crossroads and send for boats. If we could pass through the swift water a mile back…no," Mablung sighed. "We would die trying. We could paddle upriver to here," he pointed to a place on the south bank where the river was wider, "and walk to the road."

"There is no path, even for a man on foot," Faramir said. He gestured to a point on the south bank. "You see here, it's a sheer rock face dropping a hundred feet into the river."

"What if we cross the river on the Southward Road and scale the ridge?"

Faramir looked to Gandalf, who shook his head. "Only as a last resort," Faramir said. "Even the lowest pass has to be a climb of nearly three thousand vertical feet in under three miles."

Gandalf chuckled. "Isildur's city is well defended - against incursions from Gondor at any rate. The only useable road comes from Mordor."

"Now that's really the long way 'round," Mablung said wryly. "I'll take my chances going over the mountain, thank you."

Faramir put back the map and went to the edge of the road to gaze upriver. He heard Legolas call his name from up high, and then felt a thud against his back that sent him face down onto the ground. As he pushed himself up and tried to get his wind back, he heard Mablung shout, "Troll's back!"

Faramir tried to stand but another rock flew at his head so he crouched down again, wincing at the pain in his back. The troll was running down the road towards them, stopping only to pick up rocks and hurl them.

"He's got us trapped!" Mablung said.

The Rangers were running to meet the troll and Mablung was shouting, "Take his legs out, men! Aim for the legs!"

Faramir scrambled to his feet in time to see the troll knock one of the Rangers backwards over the embankment. Then two men darted behind the troll and pierced the backs of its knees with their swords. At the same time, Faramir looked up and saw that Legolas was dangling Gimli by one arm from the side of the cliff, hurling the Dwarf and his axe blade right into the troll's forehead. The troll groaned, dropped the rocks it was holding, and toppled to the ground. Faramir watched with amazement as Legolas spun around, swinging Gimli right back beside him on the ledge. The Dwarf landed on his feet and hooted with delight.

Faramir reached for his sword, but realized the troll was near enough to death without his help. Instead, he grabbed a rope from his horse, secured one end to the saddle and tossed the other end over the embankment. He looked briefly down but couldn't see the soldier who had been struck by the troll.

"Steady, now," he told Goldoron, before repelling down the embankment.

"Prince Faramir!" someone on the road called out in alarm.

The embankment was steep, but not a sheer drop, and by holding on to the rope and planting his feet against the bank just above the water level, Faramir was able to lean out over the river and see the soldier's body, which had floated a short distance downriver before catching on some rocks.

Mablung appeared above his head, "my Lord, what are you doing?" he asked, alarmed.

"I can see him," Faramir replied. "He's hung up on some rocks, just a hundred feet down."

"I shall retrieve him. Please, Faramir, come away from the river," Mablung said.

Faramir suddenly realized how close to danger he was and laughed. "I will do so," he assured his captain. He climbed back up the embankment, thanked Goldoron with a pat on the neck, and went to look at the troll.

"He is dead?" Faramir asked, feeling a bit giddy.

Gandalf nodded. "Quite."

"But it wasn't the water that killed him," Faramir said thoughtfully. "Nor did the black waters take our man!" he exclaimed happily as Mablung and the soldier clambered up the embankment together.

Once the soldier had sat down and been given a scrap of cloth to dry himself with, Faramir asked, "what is your name?"

"Aldamir, my Lord."

"Aldamir, you were unconscious. Do you know who I am and where you are?"

The man nodded. "You are Prince Faramir and we are in the Morgul Vale."

"Did the waters not burn you?" Faramir asked.

"No more than the fog does, my Lord."

Faramir smiled, his confidence soaring, then turned to the others. "Someone must stay with Aldamir and watch the road. The rest of us will return to the meadow by the bridge and cross the river on horseback."

"There, you see!" Gimli exclaimed. "All this fuss because you were afraid of getting wet. You'll never see a Dwarf running away from a little black water."

Faramir reminded himself that if the King allowed the Dwarf to run his tongue unchecked, there was little point in the Steward demanding better manners. So he smiled benevolently and said, "lead the way, then, Master Dwarf."

To Mablung, he said, "I guess in the end, the troll did us more good than harm. We might never have dared the waters without his example to follow."

Mablung shrugged. "Others have fallen in and come out burned."

Faramir looked in the direction of Minas Morgul and felt determination sink deep into his bones. "They are weak now. Their power lessens even as we draw nearer. Let us be done with their filth once and for all."

Gimli and Legolas led the others into the meadow, where a sweet and rotten odor caused the Men to cough and gag. The mist grew colder as they approached the river, and more potent. The city was mostly hidden from their view. Only its tallest tower reached above the mists and the sight of it made Faramir shudder.

"Hum quietly to yourselves," Faramir said, but his voice came out barely above a whisper. "Think of a cheerful place," he said more loudly. "Do not dwell on the mists."

He heard Legolas' horse splash into the river, and then Goldoron balked. As the others passed him, he spoke softly to the horse. "It's only water, boy. You'll see. Take heart."

Goldoron yanked back on the reins when Faramir tried to steer him to the water. Faramir sighed and dismounted, leading his horse into the river on foot. The water was icy cold and it stung, but it was not unbearable, and Goldoron at last followed his master into the river.

The fog was now so thick that Faramir could not see more than a few feet in front of him, and the sounds of the others in the water were at first muffled, and then strangely silent. It occurred to him that the others may have gone ahead without him, or that he had headed out at an angle and was now going the wrong way.

Faramir's heart began to pound and he was on the verge of calling out when he heard a voice shout, "What is that?"

"What?" someone else asked.

"Turn back!" the first man shouted. "It's – aii! I has me! Flee!"

Two Rangers rode past Faramir in the direction of the north bank, so he mounted Goldoron and went after them. He heard Mablung shouting behind him, "master your minds men! The fog is toying with you."

Faramir caught up to the Rangers on the north bank and called out, "halt! Clear your heads! Remember yourselves."

The two Rangers were both young and looking at each other in confusion. The bolder one looked to Faramir and said, "there was nothing out there, was there?"

Faramir smiled and shook his head. "I think not."

He turned to the other man, who still looked quite scared. "Would you like me to send you back to keep watch with Aldamir?"

The young soldier blushed and bowed his head. "No, sir."

"Then sing us a song as we cross. Was it you who tried to serenade us before?"

"It was I, sir," the first soldier grinned and then began to sing loudly, "My love awaits me by and by, down in the glen, oh, down in the glen!"

Faramir nodded in approval and joined in, "She'll tell me no, though I'll still try, down in the glen, oh, down in the glen!"

The frightened soldier weakly chimed in, "Under the willow together we'll lie, down in the glen, oh, down in the glen."

"If she won't have me then I will die, down in the glen, oh, down in the glen!"

Faramir whirled Goldoron around and motioned for the others to follow. "Keep singing!" he commanded. "Goldoron! Swifly, now. Hya!" he said and gave a quick kick of his heels. Goldoron's courage was also buoyed and he raised up a little on his back legs and galloped enthusiastically into the river.

They emerged from the river and crossed another festering meadow, their noses buried in the crooks of their arms to ward off the stench. The others were waiting for them on the Morgul road, where the fog was almost completely gone and the air was much warmer.

Mablung looked at Faramir in concern but Faramir shook his head. "Let us make haste. They can see us as well as we can see them now."

The city lay a short way ahead on a winding road. Its outer wall glowed faintly, and its white tower rose high and stark against the mountains. Darkened portals gazed out at them unblinking, and Faramir felt a force pressing against his chest, as if trying to push him back.

"Do you feel it?" Legolas asked him.

Faramir nodded. "We must push back against it. Everyone," he called, "ride quickly. Give your horse his head."

The group galloped along the road and the city loomed ever larger and more wondrous before them. Faramir was surprised that the Black City was actually white, and that it was so elegant, so like its sister in its Númenorian splendor. He found he no longer feared entering the city, but instead longed for it with the eagerness of a child who is allowed to see a place he had believed only existed in a fairy tale.

They soon reached the gate and both horses and men were short of breath. Finally, Mablung said, "it is beautiful like our own city. Why is it not more fearsome?"

"Do not be deceived by a beautiful form," Gandalf said loudly. "Evil must be destroyed no matter how it appears to the senses."

Faramir felt regret at these words, though he knew them to be true. "And so we have arrived, but there is no one here to greet us. Where are the guards of the Dead City? Who will defend the last stronghold of the Dark Lord?" he called out mockingly, half hoping to provoke a response to his challenge. Yet all was still and silent, the outer wall high and shining before them.

"When the Lord of this city challenged my King Eärnur in single combat a thousand years ago, he answered the call. Will you not answer mine?" he called, his voice breaking. "A King has returned to the throne of Gondor and he sends his challenge to whoever now rules this city: defeat us or die trying!"

The city remained indifferent to these threats which sounded even to Faramir like the bravado of a frightened child.

"It is deserted," one of Mablung's men said.

"Do not let down your guard," Faramir said sharply. "Legolas and I have both sensed it – we are not alone here. This is a trick of some sort."

"Either that or they fear us," Mablung suggested. "They do not dare come to the gate."

Faramir nodded. "They prefer that we stay on this side of the wall but again, as with the river, there must be another way."

"With the river, it was the obvious way," Legolas said, dismounting and putting his hand to the door. He pushed, but it did not move. Gimli pushed with him, but the door was shut fast.

"Yes, try the door," Gandalf chuckled. "Always a good strategy. And what if there is more than one door?"

"Is there?" Faramir asked.

Gandalf smiled enigmatically. "Let us find out."

A Ranger was assigned to stay with the horses and the rest of the group split into two parties, one going in either direction along the city walls which went back into the steep valley until they met with the solid rock of the mountain. Gandalf had gone with Faramir's group up the left side, while Gimli and Legolas were following Mablung's lead along the right side.

"Faramir," Gandalf asked in a rhetorical tone of voice, "are there not ways out of Minas Tirith other than the main gate?"

"Yes, we have routes that go over or through the mountain to supply us during a siege or to get people out in case of sudden attack. I suppose Minas Ithil was built the same way."

"I am sure of it," Gandalf replied. "I am aware of how such places in Minas Tirith are marked for those wishing to flee the city, but how are they marked for those trying to get supplies in?"

Faramir smiled grimly. "They are not marked. It is knowledge passed only mouth to ear among the Tower Guard."

"Hmph," Gandalf grumbled. "Then we had better find the King's Door."

Faramir looked at him skeptically. Minas Tirith had a King's Door as well, a wall entrance that had long been sealed, for the secret of its opening was lost in the mists of time. "If there is such a door, I have no hope that we may pass through it."

Gandalf gave him a strange look. "You must have hope, Faramir. Always have hope."

Faramir sighed and looked around. They could go no further. They were near the top of the wall and he could see the roofs of some of the city's houses now, many of which looked like an earthquake had rent them in half. "I think I know what happened to the bridge," Faramir said, and pointed towards the houses.

Gandalf nodded. "The Evil One wrenched the earth in his final rage, bringing the walls down around his own servants' ears. Evil always sows the seeds of its own destruction. Well, I see no door so we had better head back to hear whether the others had any more luck."

When they arrived back at the main gate, one of the rangers from Mablung's party awaited them. "The Captain bids you to join them. They have found some sort of door but they cannot get it open. There's an inscription on the door and The Elf Prince says it is called the Door of Isildur."

"The King's Door!" Gandalf exclaimed.

Faramir looked at Gandalf in surprise. "There is no record of an inscription on the door at Minas Tirith," he said.

About two-thirds of the way along the western wall, Gimli was hacking at the stone door with his axe, making a terrible racket.

Mablung was standing nearby and cringing with every blow. "Sir," he shouted, "I do not think you should be doing that!"

"And it's not doing any good," Legolas noted.

"Except to loudly announce to whoever or whatever is inside that someone is trying to break in," added Mablung.

Gimli checked his swing when Gandalf and Faramir approached. Gandalf gently pushed Gimli out of the way and read the inscription on the door: "_Annon Isildur. Elen aran edratha._ The door of Isildur. The star of the king will open it."

Gimli looked up to the sky. "'Tis high noon. We have a long time to wait before we see any stars."

Faramir clutched at his chest, where the jewel Aragorn had given him hung around his neck. He suddenly felt sure that this was the key to the door, and perhaps to the one at Minas Tirith, as well. But had Aragorn meant for anyone else to know he had it? Faramir had nearly forgotten about it, but now its presence weighed heavily on him. He did not know how the others would react were he to reveal that the King had entrusted him with something so precious and so potent.

Gandalf was looking at Faramir. "_Elen aran edratha, Faramir. Elendilmir edratha_."

Faramir nodded. "I know." Gandalf, at least, knew what Aragorn had sent with him.

"We both thought it would be useful to you, though we were not sure how," Gandalf said. "Now is the time to find out, Lord Steward."

Faramir began to unstrap his chest armor and explained to the others, as calmly as he could, "We do not have to wait for the stars in the sky. I have the key. Aragorn sent it with me."

The others looked at him, at first with curiosity, and then in wonder, as he withdrew the jewel and its silver cord from his tunic.

"Elendilmir!" Legolas exclaimed. "You carry a mighty thing, Prince Faramir!"

"I know it well," Faramir said solemnly. He looked around and saw that some of the Rangers were hanging back, stunned by the jewel's intensity. Mablung, though, was at his side as he approached the door. The Elvish words of the inscription formed a circle, and in the middle of the circle was a depression about the same size and shape as Elendilmir. Faramir pressed the jewel to the door, and it began to rumble, shaking dirt and pebbles loose around its edges, and slowly the door itself started to move backwards.

"Put it away," Mablung muttered, "quickly now, my Lord, hide it away."

"Not yet," Faramir said, hanging the cord around his neck. "We may need its light."

Mablung led and Faramir followed him into the dark passage. The Elendilmir glowed faintly, guiding them through a tunnel that was shrouded by an age's worth of decay and debris. Each man held on to the belt of the man in front of him and trusted Mablung and Faramir to find their way.

Their feet crunched on what Faramir assumed were bones and Mablung's sword cut through thick spider webs that crumbled right into dust. Gandalf began to cough and every so often one of Mablung's men would exclaim "ugh, what was that?" or "wait, I've let go. Alright, I've got a grip again. Move on."

Fortunately, there were no branches to the passage and soon Faramir could feel fresher air caressing his face: they had come to another door. "Push on it," Faramir said to Mablung.

Mablung gave the door a forceful shove and stumbled forward into the outer courtyard of the citadel of Minas Morgul. Faramir emerged after him. When his eyes adjusted to the light he saw that the courtyard was completely empty and it was silent except for the sounds of their own footfalls and the creaking of their armor. Faramir quickly refastened his, tucking the jewel safely inside his breastplate.

Faramir looked around and identified the buildings. The guardhouse, the King's house, the hall of feasts, the throne room at the foot of the tower, and the tower itself, which shone with an unearthly light. It was so alike to Minas Tirith, yet less alive, like a phantom of its twin, twisted but lovely in its own way.

"We are charged with destroying this city," Faramir said, his eyes reflecting the glow from the great tower. He went to look through an opening in the citadel wall at the houses around it. Again, he saw buildings half-collapsed, streets filled with rubble. "It seems that much of our job has already been done for us. Only this place stands whole and unblemished."

"Can we not remake it?" asked the young soldier who had gotten frightened earlier. "Can we not reclaim the city for Gondor?"

"This city has been infected with evil for over a thousand years," Gandalf said sternly, turning to face the Rangers. "The stones themselves are corrupt. Letting this city stand would only draw evil back to Gondor, so end this foolish talk now, lest our enemies take heart."

The power of the city again felt like a palpable force to Faramir, but this time it did not push against him. On the contrary, he heard it whispering to him and felt it beckoning him nearer. He looked at the wall with fascination, holding out his hand in front of him and slowly walking forward until his fingers rested against a large ivory-colored stone. It seemed to him that the wall responded to his touch like a living thing, drawing back at first, then relaxing against his skin.

Faramir heard Mablung instructing his men to scout the area in pairs, and then suddenly Mablung was at his side, a worried frown creasing his broad forehead.

"Touch it," Faramir said excitedly, running his hands along the wall's surface. "Do you feel it? The city is alive!"

Mablung looked askance at Faramir and did not touch the wall. "Did you not hear the Wizard, my Lord? The stones are corrupt. Come away from the wall, please," Mablung said, gently pulling on Faramir's arm.

When Faramir moved away from the wall, its light seemed to increase. A wan yellow glow spread from where his hands had been until the entire courtyard emitted a faint light. "It is alive! Alive with intent," Faramir whispered in awe.

"Alive with evil," Gandalf said darkly.

Faramir nodded and began to smile. "It is a benign evil, if seduction is its best tactic," he said, shaking his head. "The city thinks to tempt me. We have defeated her designs and breached her defenses, so now she wants to woo me, to win me over." It was exciting to him, pitting his will against what he felt pulling at him.

Mablung worried the hilt of his sword and would not meet Faramir's eyes.

"I pity her," Faramir said, shaking his head again. "She has been hard used, and given no hope for redemption."

"You do not think to spare it, do you?" Gandalf asked, worried.

"I do not," Faramir said firmly. Slowly he turned to look along the wall. "Your efforts are for naught," he called out. "You will not win me over for my heart is loyal to the King of Gondor."

Then Faramir's memory was vivid with Aragorn's smile lit by the glow of his pipe, the timbre of his voice, and the feel of his hands closing Faramir's fingers around the jewel Aragorn had placed in his palm. Faramir whirled around to face the tower. "I will not spare you!" he shouted, and Gandalf nodded in approval.

Faramir's exhilaration ebbed as the city gave up its recollection of Númenor and returned to its true self, the glow fading from the walls and the stones losing their luster. The courtyard faded into a dull gray, and the tower now shone with an ominous greenish light. "Your suffering is at its end, fair Ithil," Faramir said more gently, "but how? Mithrandir, how are we to destroy a city?"

"You will return with an army of Dwarves and Men, and not a stone will remain unhewn."

Faramir closed his eyes and shuddered. "That is also an act of evil." When he opened his eyes, Gandalf was looking at him sharply. "Is it not, my teacher? Destroying with delight, misusing that which could be put to good purpose - that is the work of Morgoth!"

"Then take no delight in it, my boy!" Gandalf said with some alarm. "Mourn that which you must do, but do it nonetheless. Evil must be destroyed utterly, we learned this lesson from Sauron himself. If you let pity move you and allow this place to stand, you would only nurture the seeds of evil. You _know_ this, Faramir."

Faramir regarded his mentor with a steady gaze. "'The seeds of evil sown by Morgoth in the hearts of Men will ever and anon sprout anew and bear their dark fruit even unto the last days,'" he quoted. "I know this because you taught me when I was still a boy and I see now that you wished to hint to me of a destiny I could not begin to imagine as my own. I know in my heart that this city must fall, but I know not how it is that we may accomplish such a thing without sowing the seeds of darkness within ourselves."

Gandalf parted his lips as if to answer him, but then doubt clouded his eyes and he turned away. Faramir cast his gaze upon the great tower, which seemed to seethe with a quiet desperation. Soon, Legolas, Gimli and the Rangers returned, all with nothing to report. The citadel was an empty shell.

Faramir sighed and said, "Perhaps it is over, then. Our triumph is more complete than we dared hope and there is nothing more evil here than a broken city with a twisted heart. Let us exit the citadel and make for the city's gate so that we may leave it open for the instruments of Gondor's vengeance."

"Faramir, wait," Legolas said softly. "The eyes of some creature are now upon us. We are being watched from there," he pointed towards the Tower.

Faramir turned slowly and looked in the direction Legolas indicated. "It is not just the will of the city that you sense?"

Legolas shook his head. "I saw something moving."

Faramir held up his hand and the others halted. "Draw your weapons and follow me," he said quietly but clearly.

The great doors to the hall were carved with hideous beasts and inscriptions written in the Black Speech that made Gandalf shudder when he pushed them open. It took a minute for Faramir's eyes to adjust to the low light of the interior, but when he could see clearly, he halted abruptly in the entryway. The Rangers pushed past him and secured the throne room, but Gimli, Legolas and Gandalf also paused in the entryway and looked at what had stopped Faramir in his tracks.

"It's a man!" Gimli exclaimed.

"A dead man," Legolas whispered.

Faramir felt frozen down to the fibers of his being. He felt a hand on his shoulder but could not turn his head away from the sight: in an alcove just to the right of the door was a man dressed in the garb of a Gondorian king, encased in what looked like a thin layer of pale green ice. The man was on his knees, his hands bound behind his back, his face tilted upward, his mouth stretched open in a scream.

"You know who it is," Gandalf stated.

Faramir slowly nodded, his neck stiff with chill. "It is Eärnur, the last King of Gondor." Faramir felt warmth return to his face and realized he was blushing. "The last King of the Third Age," he emended. He again touched his breast where the jewel lay hidden.

"The Lord of the Nazgûl must have held this particular triumph dear to put his trophy in such a prominent place," Legolas said softly.

"Quite right. He achieved one of his Master's dearest dreams and ended the line of kings in the South," Gandalf said. "The Lord of the Nazgûl never forgot how Eärnur drove him from Angmar and patiently waited for his revenge. For years Mardil, Eärnur's Steward, dissuaded the King from giving in to his pride and answering the Witch King's challenge, but in the end Eärnur rode to Minas Morgul with his knights and none were ever seen again."

"Until now," Gimli muttered.

"Mardil was your ancestor, Faramir?" Legolas asked. "The first ruling Steward?"

"And my father was the last." Faramir's throat tightened at the memory of his dream, and he wished to no longer look on the sight of the King in his death-throes. "Let us leave King Eärnur in peace," he said hoarsely.

They walked into the great hall, at the end of which rose a mighty throne made of black metal twisted around bone. The base was made of bare skulls stained brown with blood, facing outward and grimacing at those who approached the throne. As they neared the stair that ascended the tower, the polished walls of the room began to echo with a low, moaning sound.

"There _is_ something in here!" Mablung exclaimed, raising his sword.

Suddenly the air grew cold and was filled with the stench of decay. Some of the Rangers began to gag and fall back to the entryway where the air was fresher. The moaning grew louder and higher, until it was a piercing wail, and more of the Men were cowed, looking for a place to hide from the mournful sound. Faramir's heart ached and his blood raced.

"What is it?" Mablung asked, but none answered.

From the floor of the throne room, gray wisps began to float upward, and Faramir now saw that the large stones in the floor had markings.

"There are tombs in the floor," Faramir said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard over the cries that continued to assault their ears. "The throne room is also a crypt."

The gray forms grew tall and began to take the shapes of men shrouded in a foul vapor through which only their dimly glowing green eyes could be seen. Many of Mablung's men fled in terror, and their Captain's commands to hold their ground could not reach their ears.

"Úmarth!" Gandalf cursed. "Let them flee. They cannot help us defeat these foes for they are wights - Men pierced by a Morgul blade, bound to a living death guarding that which their master cherished."

"But why were they not released when the Witch-king fell?" Legolas asked.

"The power of Mordor is broken," Gandalf called to the wights. "You are your own masters now! Let go of this place and be at peace!"

A hissed word came through the wailing: "Mine!"

Faramir's stomach lurched and said tensely, "perhaps they have _chosen_ to stay. Wights are said to be covetous, jealously guarding their treasure. Perhaps they want the city for themselves."

The wights began to reach out for them, each stepping away from his tomb and crying out in a way that was both hateful and sad.

Gandalf waved his staff and the movement of the air sent ripples through the wispy forms. "You are no longer bound to this place! Be gone!"

"Be gone!" The bone-chilling words echoed back, this time spoken by the wights.

The smoke became ever more solid and now the tall creatures were bearing down upon Faramir and the others, but their movements were slow and ungraceful. Faramir watched with fascinated horror as a bony hand stretched toward him and he easily ducked out of its reach. The body of the wight swiveled around and reached for him again, so he took a step backwards and found himself pressed up against a column embedded with metal spikes.

"How do we slay an enemy that is already dead?" Gimli asked, impotently swinging his axe at the insubstantial forms.

"We do not," Gandalf said, shepherding them quickly towards the door through the narrow corridor between the rows of creatures. "We must follow the Rangers and escape them for now. When we return, we will destroy their treasure and the tombs in which they dwell, and that will be their end."

At Gandalf's words, the wights as one let out a great howl and shook their phantom arms in anger, stirring up an icy wind in the great hall. Faramir briefly cowered, covering his ears, then ran after the others. His instinct was to escape, but an idea was working itself out in his mind, bidding him to stay.

They were nearly to the door when Faramir halted and turned to face the specters that were gathering together in the center of the hall.

Mablung stopped by his side, and also looked back into the room. Then he grabbed Faramir's arm and said, "My Lord, come! The others have already fled."

"Stay with me, friend, or flee if that is your choice," Faramir said quietly, loosening his armor and bringing out the Elendilmir.

"Please, Faramir…"

"Mithrandir is wrong," Faramir said forcefully. "Destroying the city is not our task. It is as I have believed all along: the end must come through the flowering of the seeds of evil that were planted here by its maker." He fastened the circlet to his forehead. "I now know what I must do."

"What must you do? This is madness!" Mablung shrunk back from Faramir as the crystal began to glow with a yellow-white light.

Faramir saw in his mind's eye memories that were not his: a man of the High Elven race whose countenance shone with an otherworldly light; Nimloth, the White Tree of Armenelos in the court of the Númenorian kings; the face of the Deceiver, so beautiful it took Faramir's breath away.

"The jewel remembers," he gasped, staggering to one side where he was caught by Mablung's strong hands.

"Faramir," Mablung whispered, "take it off! I beg you."

"Trust me," Faramir whispered back. He closed his eyes briefly, trying to block out the visions.

When he could see again with his own eyes, he stood tall and said in a loud, clear voice, "Mithrandir, I defy you: we will not destroy this fair city! Hear me, creatures of the darkness! I am Faramir son of Denethor, Steward of Gondor and Prince of Ithilien, and I claim this city for myself!"

A deafening scream came bouncing off the walls of the throne room and Mablung ducked his head. Faramir, however, took heart from the reaction of the wights, and took another step into the hall.

"You see that I bear the sign of the great King Elendil who commanded that this city be built. It is his jewel that allowed us to breach these walls and it is my right as possessor of this sign to command that you to give over to Gondor all the treasure this city holds. Your master is gone and your city has called me to be its new Lord! You are but the pathetic remnants of a downtrodden and defeated power. You shall be no more and this city will belong to the living!"

The throne room began to shake with the rage of the wights, who swarmed all around Faramir and Mablung. Their touch was like ice and their grip was strong, but they could not long withstand the light from Elendilmir and once burned by its fire, they dared not approach again.

Faramir took another step into the hall and held his head high. He said, "Your side has lost and we will now take the spoils of our victory down to the last golden cup, the last emerald pendant, the last ruby ring. Your finest fabrics will adorn my wife's white skin. Your jewels will grace her slender neck. I will send your mithril in payment to the Dwarves when they destroy your fetid tombs and restore this palace to a splendor befitting a ruler such as I. From your gold they will build me a throne that will glow with the glory of a hundred suns. Bow down before me or flee the city now, for I will return in two days time with my armies, and all that was yours will be ours once again!"

The wight closest to Faramir cried in a terrible voice, "Never!" He then hurled himself away towards the tower.

"Go!" Faramir pushed Mablung ahead of him and they ran out into the courtyard. "Quickly, everyone, through the tunnel!" Faramir commanded.

They ran for the King's door as the courtyard began to rumble and crack. Pieces of the wall came crashing to the earth as they passed through the door and scrambled along the passage's quaking length, emerging on the rocky hillside beside the wall. The men were dusting themselves off and checking for injuries.

"Keep moving!" Faramir shouted, and they clambered back down the rocky hillside toward the main gate, all the while thunderous crashes and billows of dust swelling behind them.

"The tower is falling!" cried one of the Rangers.

Faramir turned to watch as a spiral of grey smoke swirled swiftly around the tilting white tower and vanished in the air, then the tower crumbled with a deafening crash.

"Make haste, make haste!" Gandalf called as they reached the road. "Mount your horses quickly and on to the river."

The city was still rumbling and quaking behind them as they crossed the river. They watched from the far bank as the walls blew outward like a dam bursts when it can no longer hold back a flood of water, but behind the walls was nothing but smoke and dust.

Gandalf's steed stood beside Faramir's and the wizard said, "You are wise, Faramir, more than I credit you for. Aragorn was right to trust you with this task and with his treasure."

Faramir lifted a hand to his forehead and realized he was still wearing the Elendilmir. He took it off and held it in his hand.

A badly shaken Mablung rode up next to him "Put it away, my Lord. It is a fearsome thing!"

Faramir gazed fondly at the jewel. "Nay, it is a beauteous thing. It is an heirloom of a time we only know from story and song. The King is right to value it so." He fastened the cord around his neck and pressed his hand to the jewel for a moment before closing his tunic over it. "At least I have given it another memory to keep, in payment for its help," he said.

As they took to the road, Faramir looked once more over the ruin of the city and smiled sadly. "Be at peace, fair Ithil," he said.

Once at the crossroads, Mablung tried to take his leave of Faramir and return north, but the Prince said, "ride on with us toward Osgiliath, my friend."

Mablung looked at Faramir quizzically. "What awaits us at Osgiliath?"

Mirth danced in Faramir's eyes. "Not at Osgiliath, but in a little town just this side of the garrison. There is a tavern there where I think you will enjoy a very nice meal, Captain."

When they arrived to Lendnos, Mablung and the others went to the Tavern, but Faramir only stopped long enough to deposit a bag of coin in Éopryt's hand and to instruct her to be free with the food and ale. "Captain Mablung, especially, is a man of great appetites," he said with a wink.

Then Faramir and his guard rode swiftly on, eager to reach the gate of Minas Tirith before the thick of night. Goldoron bore Faramir proudly into the city and all was right that before had been wrong. To this Lord of the White Tower would Faramir bring a thing of great power, and from this Lord would he receive the love and honor he had earned.

He found the King in his chambers and was warmly embraced by Aragorn and Arwen in turn. Then Faramir placed the Elendilmir on Aragorn's brow, and through the jewel the King saw with his own eyes what Faramir had seen, the splendor and the horror of the last day of Minas Ithil. "It is done, then?" Aragorn asked, his voice a whisper.

Faramir laid a hand on Aragorn's shoulder. "It is done, my Lord."

Aragorn clasped Faramir's hand with his own. "It is well that you were charged with this task and not I. Thank you, Faramir."

Faramir closed his eyes briefly, savoring the warmth that filled his heart. Then he smiled and said, "is it too late for me to kiss Eldarion goodnight?"

* * *

**Note**: _Úmarth_ – ill fate

Thanks to TSH and OK for help with the jewel

The living stone idea was no doubt inspired by Anglachel's story _Hands of the King_

* * *

**Key for the game in chapter 2**

References to the journey of Jason and the Argonauts, in the order they appear in chapter 2:

**Ciryn Gelig** – Argonauts, in Sindarin

**The toil of a troublous voyage** – from _The Argonautica_: "Quickly the king saw him and pondered, and devised for him the toil of a troublous voyage, in order that on the sea or among strangers he might lose his home-return."

**If you entrust your glory to my care, let our path no longer be hindered - ** paraphrased from _The Argonautica_: " If ye entrust your glory to my care, no longer as before let our path be hindered."

**Lendnos** – Lendnos is roughly "journey place" in Sindarin, but Lemnos in _The Argonautica_ is an island where the women have killed off the men and make merry with Jason and his companions

**Éopryt** – The name means "horse proud" in Rohirric. Hypsipyle (which approximates "proud horse" in Greek) is the Queen of Lemnos. There are several ways that the interaction between Hypsipyle and Jason is mirrored in the interaction between Éopryt and Faramir, except, of course, that Jason takes Hypsipyle up on her offer and was left "to rest all day long in the embrace of Hypsipyle until he has peopled Lemnos with men-children."

**Legolas falls in the spring** – Heracles' servant and lover, Hylas, goes to fetch water and is pulled in by water nymph who is captivated by his beauty. Distraught, Heracles goes in search of Hylas and is accidentally left behind by the crew of the Argo. Good thing Gimli got there in time to pull Legolas out!

**Finlas, the old man** – In Greek mythology, Phineus is a seer who has been blinded by Zeus, who resents that a mortal was given the gift of prophecy. He is also punished by having Harpies steal his food, leaving only enough to keep him alive. Jason's men chase off the Harpies, and in gratitude, Phineus tells Jason how he can sail through the peril of the clashing rocks.

**Son of Denethor** – in _The Argonautica_ the heroes are often referred to as "the son of" rather than by their first names

**The Face of Aulë** (1) – instead of clashing rocks, we have a rockslide (inspired by the demise of New Hampshire's most prominent symbol).

**The Face of Aulë** (2) -Aulë is the Vala who most resembles Athena, the goddess who aids the Argonauts in passing through the clashing rocks.

**Lost in a fog** – this is loosely based on the incident in _The Argonautica_ when winds batter the ship and they wind up on the shore of the same island they just left.


End file.
